A Blue September Morning
by WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: A NaNoWriMo take on the Royai 100 themes.  Will be friendship, angst, romance, drama, etc.  Chapter One Hundred posted.  After the Rain.  Now complete and awaiting revision.
1. Promise

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or any of its characters.

_Author's Note: Hi! So for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) I am doing the Royai 100. Originally I wasn't going to do it this year, but my friend needed a writing buddy, so here I am, having finished my first theme before my two papers due tomorrow (woops). Will be just about every genre in here, and probably some crossovers too. Mostly manga-verse. The title is from a song called After the Rain by Ruthie Henshall, but I didn't want to call it that since it's one of the themes. So you get this line instead. Listen to the song - it really reminds me of this pairing. Okay, well, sit back, relax, and watch my frantic attempt at 50,000 words in thirty days begin!_

* * *

**Theme 10 :: Promise**

It was another day in Ishbal; nothing more, nothing less. The war was still raging forward, alchemists ripping across the land like wildfire, their protectors from the sniper camp following close behind, the rest of the soldiers bringing up the rear. They fought most of the day, coming back to camp tired and dirty.

Roy Mustang sat on the edge of his cot, head between his knees, fingers twitching a little at their places by his sides. This, too, wasn't particularly abnormal. He often spent the evenings like this, recounting the day – the taste of grease on his lips, the heat of flame on his face, and the eyes . . . those red eyes were what haunted him the most.

It was then that a young blonde, easily mistaken for a boy on the battlefield, ducked into his tent and set about shuffling through his few belongings. He didn't look up, for she did the same thing every night. And every night he knew that should he steal a glance in her direction, he'd find her fingers twitching as well, mimicking the pulling of a trigger as his struggled to go through the motion of snapping.

"Riza . . ." he whispered, eyes still fascinated with his boots.

"Yes, Major?" she replied, still rearranging his things, tidying.

"How . . ." he swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts, "how many?"

She stopped abruptly and studied her palms for a moment. "I don't remember." She sighed and looked at him. "I lost count, sir."

"Me, too," he nodded a little, still refusing to look at her. "I always do," he added grimly.

Frowning a little, her fingers came across an unsealed envelope. She took a furtive glance in his direction, but he remained in his slump, and if he'd noticed or cared that she'd found the packet, he gave no sign.

She smiled. Not a large smile, but a sweet, subtle expression of wistful happiness. They were photographs. There was one there of Roy and his best friend Maes, on their first day at the Academy. There was another of a much younger Roy and his three sisters, all toothless smiles and giggles. There were others, remnants of his childhood, but one picture stood out amongst the rest.

"Oh, so you found it."

She looked over quickly, a little embarrassed that she was caught. "Oh, yes. Yes, I did. I've actually been wondering where this went." It was only then that she noticed he was no longer frowning – not smiling, but not frowning either.

"If I remember correctly, that was the day I proposed."

She turned away at once, afraid she might be blushing, and looked at the photograph again. They were only children then, playing in the garden. He'd been nine years old and she only six, and because of this he saw fit to tease her as much as possible. Little Riza was scowling at him, arms folded across her chest, her blonde locks tangled and dirty. A few feet away, young Roy was holding a doll high above her head, using his height as leverage. It was after that day Riza stopped playing with dolls.

"Yes," she said softly. "You wouldn't give my doll back until I agreed to marry you."

"You never gave me an answer," he reminded her.

"And you never gave me back my doll."

He was quiet for a moment, then ventured quietly, "I still have it, actually."

Her eyes widened and she turned to look at him. "Ready to give it back?"

"Not until you hold up your end of the bargain." It was then that she noticed he was smiling. It was faint, still clouded by the day's tragedies, but it seemed their conversation was the reprieve he needed.

She was a little shocked to say the least, but her face betrayed none of it. She neatly stuffed the photos back where they belonged and muttered as she made her way out of his tent, "I want that doll back."

Roy just looked after her, watching his tent flap sway a little with her departure. "A promise is a promise."

* * *

_689 words. Definitely not what I first envisioned but I guess it came out cute. Love it? Hate it? Tell me._


	2. Watching Over You

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING.

_Author's Note: On to the second one! Turned out more the way I expected than the last one. Hope soon I'll be able to choose which prompts I do when instead of having a random number generator do it for me. Uh . . . yeah, third should be up later today. This one takes place somewhere around chapter 40 in the manga. Something like that. (Note - Riza thinks about Roy's playboy persona a little, in this one-shot I decided I wanted her to believe it, even though in other's I'll probably have her know otherwise. It was just a clause that helped up the word count . . .) Enjoy!_

* * *

**Theme 76 :: Watching Over You**

"Lieutenant?" groaned the dark-haired man in the bed.

The woman looked over from her place by the door. "Yes, sir?"

"Go home."

Riza's eyes lowered to the gun in her lap. "I'm afraid I can't do that, sir."

He made a little noise of protest and rearranged himself in bed, trying his best not to aggravate his wounds any further. He turned his back to her. His back – the very back she swore to protect. She found it ironic, that, in his efforts to be rid of her, he'd only reminded her of their pact more.

"It's just strange," he said, "sleeping when there's someone else in the room."

She raised an eyebrow, gazing at him through the half-darkness. "There's Havoc, too."

"But he's not_watching_ me," Roy stressed.

A small smile graced her lips as she murmured, "You didn't seem to mind before."

Determined as usual, he pulled the covers over his head and tried his hardest to sleep, but the hospital bed was apparently not designed for such activities. He spent several minutes wrestling with his sheets before he felt a gentle warmth on his shoulder.

"Here, sir," Hawkeye said, standing behind him, one hand pressed against him, the other offering a pillow. "I know you like an extra."

* * *

It was an hour later that the nightmares started.

Still awake, she was cleaning her gun, a nervous habit that she never managed to break, when she heard a muffled, pathetic sound from the Colonel's general direction. She dismissed it at first, thinking that he was merely talking in his sleep, and fixed her attention solely on the weapon before her.

Ten minutes passed, and the sound had yet to stop. In fact, it had only grown louder. With a sigh, she came over to the edge of his bed and found him curled up around his extra pillow, spooning it as she imagined he would his many one-night-stands, his face buried in the scratchy fabric of the pillowcase, whimpering.

"Sh . . ." she soothed, pulling the blankets over him once more, ensuring his warmth and comfort. This was going to be a long night.

She was reminded of Ishbal. Of how she'd often sneak into his tent at night to find him much like this, shaken and upset and alone. His body was often feverish then, and she'd sit beside him with a basin of cool water and a rag, gently soothing his face as he slept, fighting away the nightmares with her quiet presence, watching over him through the night.

And here she was now, a bit startled to learn that he'd never escaped the nightmares of the war (though, she quickly reminded herself, there was a reason she refused even the tiniest of naps tonight). But she was still there, sitting on the edge of his bed, protecting him as she always did.

"Hush," she whispered, lightly combing her fingers through his hair. "It's all right; I'm here."

* * *

_500 words. Love it? Hate it? Hump it? Etc? I'd love to hear. _


	3. Telephone

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_Author's Note: Okay, this one really didn't turn out well, but it's NaNo so it's forgivable. It's a two-parter of sorts. Same basic take on the telephone theme, but with two totally different moods. Kind of Maes-focused. I wish I were better at decision making, so I wouldn't have to rely on a randomizer to choose my themes for me. Thus why this was so hard to write and kinda crappy. Will probably have another up later this evening as well._ _Enjoy._**  
**

* * *

**Theme 34 :: Telephone**

"Hello?" Roy answered, picking up the telephone in his office, apparently relieved to have found a valid excuse to delay his paperwork. An important military phone call was just what he needed to evade any menacing glares and/or flying bullets from his stern second lieutenant.

"_Oh, Roy,"_ came Maes Hughes' chipper response. _"You'll never guess what happened today!"_

Roy's face fell instantly. "I don't suppose I will, but does it have anything to do with Gracia?"

"_How'd ya guess?"_

"I suppose I must me psychic, Hughes," he replied, twirling the phone cord round his fingers, finding anything – _anything_ – to occupy himself while listening to his best friend. Well, anything but paperwork, that is.

Hughes took the opportunity to ramble on and on about his beautiful new wife and the cute things she had done the day before. These calls never seemed to end soon enough, and he looked to Hawkeye helplessly, eyes pleading.

She simply glanced at him and apparently decided he wasn't worthy of being saved. Not from the exuberant Maes Hughes, at least.

The agonizing phone call continued for ten long minutes, before Riza brought over a fresh stack of paperwork and placed them in front of Roy.

"Sir, you're behind on your paperwork again."

"_Oh, god, is that Hawkeye?"_ Maes asked, sounding more than a little frightened of the answer.

"Uh, yes, it is. I suppose I have to go then." He mouthed a silent 'thank you' to his subordinate. "Give my regards to Gracia . . . yes . . . thank you . . . goodbye."

He threw the phone into its cradle and gave it a menacing look.

Some days he just hated that damn telephone.

--

Roy Mustang woke with a start; sleeping on trains tended to do that to a person. This particular train ride seemed more agonizing than the rest, though. Eastern and Central had never felt further apart.

He gazed out the window for a few minutes before one Riza Hawkeye, looking as almost distraught as she'd been when her father died, entered the compartment. "Sir?" she asked quietly.

He gestured for her to sit across from him. "Yes?"

Instead, she sat beside him, clasping her hands tightly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Hawkeye," he warned, sensing her evasiveness. His fists clenched at his sides, bothered by this sudden change in behavior.

"That was a telephone call from Central, sir." She looked down at her fingers, picking threads off the hem of her uniform, before meeting his eyes again. "Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes is dead." When he didn't immediately respond, she laid her hands on his.

"Damn telephone," he muttered, blinking back a tear.

* * *

_447 words. You know the drill._


	4. At the Window

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

_Author's Note: Last one for today? Probably. I'm about a thousand words over the daily amount so . . . I wasn't expecting this one to be so long, but I just couldn't help it. It's mildly OOC depending on how you look at it. But I'd like to think Riza's more laid back just hanging with the girls off duty, out of uniform, etc._

_This is a crossover with the WB's/CW's_ Gilmore Girls_. Don't own that either. Some Luke/Lorelai (LL) action going on here. I was surprised and impressed with how well they worked together, the fandoms. Lorelai is so crazy she belongs in an anime, I think. And because of that she wound up a little too hyper, but I still think this is my favorite so far. And it got so long! I think I'm going to continue on this thread in the future. This is loosely based off of something that happens in episode 1x17 _The Breakup, Part Two_. At least, I think that's the episode. Either way, enjoy. :D_

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**Theme 60 :: At the Window**

Luke's Café was a simple little restaurant in a small town just outside of Central. It wasn't fancy, and the walls hadn't been painted in years, but the food was good and the townsfolk were friendly (and just a little bit off their rockers). In short, it was the perfect place for Riza and Gracia to meet for their weekly lunches.

It was here that they'd met the third part of their little club. Her name was Lorelai Gilmore, and she was just a little older than the two of them; a local. She ran the Independence Inn, just outside of town.

Riza slipped into the restaurant and took a seat at their usual table by the window, a few minutes early.

"Coffee?" came the gruff voice of the proprietor. He was unshaven, and often wore work clothes that seemed a bit out of place in a café.

"Tea," she said politely, and, as if having known her answer all along, he procured a steaming cup of her favorite peppermint tea from behind his back.

"Sugar or honey?"

"Sugar will be fine," she replied, indicating the container on the table. "Thank you, Luke."

He grumbled a little and retreated behind his counter.

Gracia breezed in and took her spot opposite Riza. They were halfway through with the usual small talk when Luke returned to fill Gracia's mug full of coffee.

"So how are things at the office?" she asked, stirring in some cream.

Riza shrugged, fingering the sleeves of her civvies. "Same as it always is. The colonel gets behind on his paperwork, I threaten him, he complains, I threaten him again, he gets his work done. It's a routine."

Gracia smirked a little as she raised her mug to her lips.

It was then that Lorelai came racing in the door, announcing her presence to the other customers with a loud whine of, "Luuuke . . . where's my coffee?"

"Well, maybe if you sit down and order, I'll give you some," he gruffed.

"But Luke, I'm in withdrawal. Please?" She pouted, waiting for him to crack.

"Just sit down."

"Not until you give me coffee."

"I'm not giving you coffee unless you sit down."

"But Luke . . ."

The conversation went on without much change, and Riza smiled over at them, inhaling the sweet smell of her tea.

"They're good for each other," Gracia commented.

"Yes," Riza nodded. "They really are. But they have no idea."

Gracia muttered something under her breath and Riza was just about to ask what she'd said when Lorelai sat down with them, holding her cup of coffee triumphantly. "Victory!" she cried.

"Well done," Riza congratulated, lifting her mug in toast.

"How are you two ladies today?" she smiled, taking a drink of her precious coffee. Suddenly, she froze, frowned and turned to Luke, who was wiping down the counter. "You gave me decaf!" she accused, marching to the counter to confront him.

Their banter came back with a vengeance, and Riza and Gracia sat back and watched.

"They should just shut up and kiss already," Gracia grumbled, a little annoyed, though still amused, at the interruptions.

"Now you sound like Maes," Riza grinned into her tea.

"Hm?"

"Oh . . . he's never mentioned . . ." Riza waved her hand in the air, hoping to get out of the explanation.

"Mentioned what?"

"Well, I overheard him saying the same thing. Just not about them," she gestured to Luke who was currently pouring Lorelai a cup of 'real' coffee.

"Then who?" Gracia smirked, baiting.

"The colonel and I," Riza breathed quietly into her cup, afraid to say it too loudly.

"Well, he's right," was all Gracia said.

Soon, Lorelai was back at the table, chatting amiably with her friends. The formalities of weather and work aside, Gracia asked how Lorelai's daughter was doing.

"Oh, Rory?" she replied. "Great. Top of her class. Best kid in the world. How's Elysia?" and the conversation continued into a realm where Riza could only nod and add anecdotes about her little 'niece', having no children of her own.

Several cups of tea and coffee later, they'd placed their lunch orders and let the conversation slide off into nothingness, when Lorelai beamed and suggested, "One-two-three, he's yours?"

Riza rolled her eyes and Gracia faked a pout, "I can't, I'm taken," and she wiggled her ring finger at them.

"Me first!" Lorelai called.

"Okay," Gracia said, looking out the window. "Guy number one is crossing the street now."

Lorelai looked out the window and wrinkled her nose. "Pass. I'm not a cradle-robber."

"Your call, Riza."

Riza couldn't help but smile as she studied the crowd for the next candidate. She pointed. "Two."

"Yuck," was Lorelai's response. "I'm not a gold-digger, either."

Gracia was halfway through saying 'three' when Luke came up and delivered their lunches. "Hmm," she said, "does that make Luke number three?"

"I think it does," Riza concurred.

"It so does not!" Lorelai protested, blushing profusely.

"Two against one," Gracia replied.

"Do I even want to know?" Luke raised an eyebrow.

"One-two-three, he's yours," Riza explained.

"Huh?"

"You get three chances," Gracia elaborated. "You can pass on one and two, but then you're stuck with three."

"For?" Luke looked more disinterested by the second.

"For our future husbands, silly. Well, theirs, I've already got one."

"Uh-huh . . ."

"Looks like you're marrying Lorelai," Riza added.

"Crazy ladies," he muttered and walked away.

Gracia and Lorelai erupted into a fit of giggles while Riza just smiled, shaking some salt onto her omelet.

"Okay, Riza's turn," Lorelai said pointedly.

They all looked down at their food this time, and Lorelai announced, "Guy number one is crossing the street . . . _now_!" They all looked up at the window, just in time to see the one and only Roy Mustang crossing the two lanes of traffic that made up Main Street.

"So Riza," Gracia teased. "Is he a keeper or are you going to pass?"

* * *

_1005 words. Review, please!  
_


	5. Given Name

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA. In fact, I am a starving college student. I own nothing.

_Author's Note: Okay, sorry, another, but it's short. This came to me weeks ago, and I just noticed a good theme to put it with so I didn't want to wait. Could use some work, but I think you get the idea. And I figured none of the others were very blatantly Royai, so here you go._

_NOTE - This is more on the T+ side of T, though there's nothing particularly bad about it. Just a warning._

* * *

  
**Theme 88 :: Given Name**

Being subordinate and commanding officer as they were, Riza and Roy rarely used one another's given names in public – it might spark unwanted interest. And so, understandably, formal military etiquette became habit.

"Riza . . ." Roy groaned, breathless, as she trailed her lips down his throat, fingers working at buttons so she could attack his collarbone. He brought her face to his, his hand clumsy and elegant against her chin

"Hm?" she replied, pressing her lips firmly to his once more, grinding her hips against his.

"Riza," he gasped, breaking free for a moment, and she resumed her assault on his chest. "Mm, Riza, please don't call me 'sir' when we're uh . . ." she hit a particularly pleasurable spot, "ah, 'fraternizing'."

"Mm," she purred, pulling him onto the couch on top of her. "Sorry, Colonel."

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_143 words. Review. You know you want to. ;)  
_


	6. Why?

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

_Author's Note: So yeah, I know this is the only one for today, but it's a day's wordcount all on its own, and I'm still really ahead. I really like the first half, but the second half didn't turn out so great. Meh, it's NaNo, I'll revise it in December. This is most likely the beginning of a series of this **AU VERY PICK AND CHOOSE CANON** thread. Sort of a mix of anime and manga, my own little combination. An AU based on Roy seeking out the Elrics sooner, and I've also made the boy_s _a little younger, just because it's suiting my needs more. So basically, when it comes to which canon and backstory I'm using, just smile and nod. ;) Also, the theme just sort of shows up subtly throughout the entire thing . . . and of course the ending. I don't know, it's late and I've been working on homework for my design class while finishing this. Enjoy._

* * *

**Theme 75 :: Why?**

They made their way up the hill, their goal in sight. When having asked where to find the Elrics, the townsperson had simply pointed to a house some distance away and said "With the Rockbells."

"Rockbell," Roy murmured, thoughtful. "That sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does, sir," the woman replied.

"Care to tell me why?"

"They were doctors. In Ishbal."

"Ah, I remember them. Whatever became of them?"

Riza looked up at him, a little sadly, "They never returned."

He frowned, nodded, and continued to lead the way, up the stairs and to the front door. He knocked.

No-one answered at first, and the two officers were beginning to wonder if something was wrong or perhaps they should just return later. Hawkeye was reaching for her sidearm and Mustang was peering in the windows when the door opened, a short, elderly lady on the other side. Her gaze narrowed at seeing their uniforms.

"Good day, officers," she said. "What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"We're looking for Edward and Alphonse Elric," Roy began. "We were told we might find them here."

She nodded, though still seemed a bit skeptical. "Why? What do you want with them?"

Roy was clearly getting annoyed, and Riza chimed in helpfully, "It's in regards to their father, ma'am."

"Very well, come on in," the old woman said, stepping aside to allow them entry. "I'm Pinako Rockbell."

"Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, and this is my aide, Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye."

The old woman nodded and shuffled into the next room. "Boys?" she called. "You have visitors."

Two blonde boys and one blonde girl tumbled out of a fort composed of chairs, pillows and a blanket. Roy held up an envelope, addressed in Edward's familiar script. "I received your letter," he said. "And I regret to inform you that no-one has seen or heard from your father in two years."

* * *

Alphonse had taken the news pretty hard, and was sulking in the fort, while Edward was insisting he was fine and muttering 'good riddance' whenever anyone tried to talk to him about it. The girl, Winry, was more than content to go up to her room to play with her puppy.

With the children now occupied, it was time for the adults to get things in order. Roy, Riza and Pinako sat around the kitchen table, each nursing a warm beverage.

"I understand that it was important that the boys received an answer," Pinako said, stirring some honey into her tea. "What I don't understand is why you came all the way out here to tell them. A letter should have sufficed. That is, unless there's something you haven't told me."

Riza glanced anxiously at Roy, who was currently staring into his cup of coffee, afraid to look at anyone.

"With the boys' mother dead, and their father missing," he began quietly, "The state has requested they be taken into military custody."

If the officers had expected the old woman to make a scene, they were disappointed. She merely nodded unhappily and waited for him to continue.

"They're afraid they may become targets. In the alchemy world, they've already made a small name for themselves, being so young. And with the circumstances surrounding their father, who knows who might try to come after them?" He looked up at her sympathetically. "I am truly sorry."

She nodded again and took a sip of her tea. "It was only a matter of time, I think. Trisha was so sure he'd be back, she never wrote a will. If she had, I'm sure she would have granted me guardianship, so no-one around here thought it would be otherwise." She took another drink and said again, "It was only a matter of time."

They all remained contemplatively silent for awhile, letting the tea and coffee warm and relax them. Riza took out her gun to clean it once.

"What will happen to them?" Pinako asked finally.

Roy finished off his coffee and stood to wash out his mug. "They'll be granted a guardian. Someone qualified to protect them, military, most likely. I don't know who they've chosen yet, but I'm sure they'll say soon after we get back to Central."

The woman nodded in understanding. "And until then?"

"They'll be in my custody. The second lieutenant here will act as a guard. I trust her with my life, and that's the highest honor I've ever been willing to grant to a person." Meanwhile, still seated at the table, Riza ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. She might even have blushed. "They'll be more than safe."

"Granny?" came a small voice. The three turned to find young Alphonse standing in the doorway.

"Did you have a nightmare?" she asked softly, understanding.

He nodded and bit down on a knuckle.

She sighed and stood. "I'm sorry, this will only take a moment."

"No," Riza said, finally joining in on the conversation. "You probably have a lot to talk about; I can handle it." She approached the boy standing by the door. "If that's all right with Alphonse, of course," she smiled.

"What do you think, Al?" Pinako asked him. "Do you want to go with the lieutenant?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding and taking her hand, tugging her upstairs with him, while Roy and Pinako continued to discuss the details of the arrangement.

"This way, Lieutenant."

"You can call me Riza."

He smiled shyly up at her. "Then you can call me Al."

He led her into what was presumably the boys' room here, and they could hear Edward's and Winry's muffled voices in the next room over. Al clambered into his bed and Riza sat down beside him. "What was your bad dream about?" she asked gently.

"Mom died again," he answered, curling up on his side.

"I'm sorry." She pulled the covers over him. "Losing someone you love is never easy."

"Have you ever lost anyone?" he asked, eyes big.

She nodded. "My mother died when I was very little. And my father died when I was a teenager."

He frowned, "But you're okay now, aren't you? It got better, right?"

"Well, yes, it got better, but it still hurts. It always will." When she saw the negative effect this had on the boy, she was quick to continue. "But you use that hurt to help you. You remember the ones you love, and what they wanted for you and how much they cared, and you live to make them proud."

"But why? How can they be proud if they're not here?"

She suddenly turned very serious and looked into his eyes, hoping and praying he would never forget what she was about to tell him. "Al, there is nothing in this world that can bring your mother back. It's hard to admit, but you must promise me that you won't try anything to get her back. It'll only bring you more heartache. Promise me, Alphonse."

"I promise," he whispered, looking a little frightened but honest.

Her stern look melted into a soft smile. "Now, why don't you go back to sleep?"

He nodded, snuggling under the blankets. "Will you stay for awhile?"

"Of course." She tucked him in more tightly and arranged herself comfortably on the edge of the bed.

He shifted around a bit, trying to find that perfect spot, before looking at her appraisingly. "You're all right, Riza. You're pretty all right."

"And you're more than all right, Al." She fondly stroked his bangs away from his forehead. "But now it's time to sleep."

She stayed there with him until she was sure he was peacefully asleep, trailing her callused fingers across the soft lines of his face, softly petting his hair. Finally, she stood, laying one hand across his cheek and whispered. "Sweet dreams, Alphonse Elric."

Before she had time to even turn around, a familiar voice spoke, "You know, Lieutenant, one of these days you're going to make one hell of a mother."

She didn't think so. Not that she thought she'd necessarily be a bad mother, but that she probably would never be a mother at all. Still, she turned to the door and said, "Thank you, sir."

They stepped out into the hall, Roy gently pushing her ahead of him, fingertips at the small of her back, and closed the door quietly behind them.

"When do we leave?" she asked.

"Three days. I've booked rooms for us at the local inn."

She nodded, and they descended the steps together in silence.

* * *

The goodbyes had been heartbreaking. Little Winry Rockbell had clung to Edward and it had taken her grandmother holding her back and Roy pushing the young boy forcibly onto the train. Riza had assured the Rockbells they would call as soon as they arrived, and the boys promised to write.

But now, they were all settled in an otherwise empty train compartment, the boys watching out the window – Ed sulking and Al simply enjoying the scenery.

"Why do we have to leave again?" Ed sighed.

"It's for your own good," Roy assured him.

Ed muttered something, but didn't ask for any more explanation.

* * *

After they arrived in Central, it took two weeks for the military to start the process of finding the boys a proper guardian, and, as he'd said, they stayed with Roy. Riza, as the temporary bodyguard to the Elrics, was a guest in his apartment as well. The boys shared the extra bedroom and, despite Roy insisting she was welcome to have his room for the time being and that he'd camp out in the living room, Riza slept on the couch.

Now, standing outside Central Headquarters, the little foursome was still staring, shocked, at the letters they'd just received.

"_Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang has been granted by the Amestrian government permanent legal guardianship of one Edward Elric . . ." _read one, and the other, _"Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye has been granted by the Amestrian government legal guardianship of one Alphonse Elric . . ."_

It really was little surprise that they wouldn't want to take the boys away from the only adults in Central they knew. But when it came to tearing them away from the only family either had left, the only thing anyone could say was _'why?'_

* * *

_1,726 words. You know the drill.  
_


	7. O Child sama

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA, don't own Monopoly. Don't sue.

_Author's Note: Continued from previous chapter, "Why?". Not the best in the world, but it's cute, I think._

* * *

**Theme 54 :: O Child-sama**

The arrangement took some getting used to at first, but eventually they fell into a routine. Before Roy and Riza had to be at work, they'd both drop their respective charges off at the Hughes residence (Gracia had been more than happy to serve as babysitter for the summer, and said that when school resumed in the fall, she'd pick them up in the afternoons), and Maes would drive them both to the office. In the evenings, the process would work in reverse.

The boys seemed satisfied with this, though made it quite obvious that they would much prefer to not be separated at all. They quickly became fond of their new guardians (though Ed had more than a few complaints about Roy, he clearly grew to respect the man), and Al had started referring to them as 'Aunt Riza' – or 'Auntie Riza' when he was sleepy or upset – and 'Uncle Roy'. Though he refused to admit it, Ed was beginning to catch onto this game as well.

Tuesday evenings, Roy helped the boys with basic alchemy and Riza took the opportunity to tidy his apartment for him.

Fridays, they feasted at the Hughes residence, and the boys convinced Maes to tell them stories – they insisted he was the best storyteller of the group.

And it was Saturday evenings that the foursome gathered round the kitchen table in Riza's apartment, eating whatever she and Roy had managed to agree on, before sitting down in the living room to play a game.

Usually it was a board game (Al had taken Riza shopping during their first days together and made big eyes at the game aisle – Riza decided it would be all right to get a few, and thus started their impressive collection), and usually Roy won, despite Ed's complaints that he just had to be cheating to win so easily.

Tonight's game was Monopoly, a recent gift from Riza's grandfather. Al had already lost (despite all his talent in alchemy, it was clear he didn't have much of a future in investment) and was curled up against his 'aunt', fast asleep. Riza was petting his hair lightly, tired as well, playing halfheartedly, ready for the inevitable win by Roy Mustang. She would have forfeited long ago to get some rest, but Ed had appointed her banker so as to avoid any potential cheating.

The game continued along at its devastatingly slow pace, and eventually Riza managed to lose, leaving the two eldest boys to fight out the rest.

She was almost asleep, her head settled against Al's when they were both startled awake by Ed's joyous cries of victory. "Haha!" he shouted. "Take that, Lieutenant Colonel _Loser_!"

"Hey!" came Roy's indignant response. "He cheated!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not times infinity!" and with that little additional victory, Ed grabbed his brother and, with permission from their 'aunt', dragged him into the kitchen for a victory cookie.

Riza bent forward to clean up the pieces while Roy simply sat looking disgruntled, muttering about how it should have been _his_ victory cookie. It was then that he heard the strangest noise. He considered it for a moment, looking around the room for some talking toy she'd perhaps gotten for Alphonse, but was surprised to find the sound coming from _her_.

That sound was his second lieutenant. Moreover, that sound was his second lieutenant_laughing_.

"It's funny," she said, then looked up at him. "You can be such a child sometimes, sir."

He simply scowled and marched into the kitchen, determined to at least get himself a consolation cookie.

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_602 words. Review, please!  
_


	8. Cold Hands

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

_Author's note: Another continuation from 'Why?' and 'O Child-sama'. I thought this came out really sweet._

* * *

**Theme 49 :: Cold Hands**

After much begging, big pleading eyes and good behavior, Roy and Riza finally acquiesced to the boys' request for a camping trip. It was all planned, the equipment purchased or dug out of storage, a site reserved, days taken off duty . . .

And of course, early that morning, when they were at Roy's apartment, ready to leave, it began to rain. This was upsetting to everyone, most of all Roy, so they decided they'd wait for it to die down a little and then they'd leave, but it never did. In fact, it began to snow. Of course, these conditions would be nothing to war-seasoned soldiers like Hawkeye and Mustang, but this was not proper weather for young boys to go camping. And when the snow quickly escalated in volume, it was deemed unsafe to even drive into the mountains to their campsite.

Roy and Riza were sitting in his kitchen, cups of coffee and tea in hand. "They seem pretty upset."

"They were really looking forward to it, sir."

"But there's nothing we can do. You said it yourself, it's just not safe."

"I completely agree, sir."

They remained in silence for a moment, before he snapped his fingers – a sound that caused her to inwardly flinch, remembering how many lives ended with a simple snap of those fingers – and rose. "I've got it."

"Hm?"

"We can still go camping," he explained, putting their empty mugs in the sink.

"But sir, you said . . ."

"We can go camping_inside_."

Unsurprisingly, the boys were delighted by this idea. Riza and Roy pushed all the living room furniture into the bedrooms, and then he showed Ed and Al how to set up a tent, while Riza worked on storing all the supplies that would be unnecessary for indoor camping.

Roy had the honors of lighting a fire in the fireplace and several candles laid out around the room, to which Ed grumbled an unimpressed "Showoff," and Riza took the opportunity to hang some old white Christmas lights on the ceiling to resemble stars.

All in all, the foursome had a better time improvising their camping trip than they ever would have actually out in the forest. That is, until the heater broke.

Roy and Riza immediately made plans to go back to her apartment, but the boys insisted it would be more like real camping this way and ran off to bundle up.

Finally they gathered, huddled around the fireplace, roasting marshmallows and making s'mores, holding their cold hands out to the warmth. They told scary stories, Ed acting out his with a flashlight shining up at his face, and discussed their past few months together, the family they'd become.

Now, the Elrics were lying together wrapped in a large mass of blankets, their sleeping bags still rolled up, forgotten in the nearby tent, sleepily finishing off the bag of unheated marshmallows. Roy, wrapped in the only remaining blanket, and Riza were sitting together nearby, gazing contemplatively into the fire.

After awhile, Ed and Al had finally drifted off, and Riza came over to put away the bag of marshmallows and tuck them in, laying a hand on each of their heads and murmuring a good-night.

When she returned to Roy, he looked up at her and frowned, "You look cold."

She shrugged and sat beside him on the floor. "It's nothing."

He shook his head and lifted the quilt, "Get in here, there's enough room for two."

She hesitated at first, then did as he told her, sitting stiffly against his side, concentrating on the flickering flames before them. She couldn't help but notice that under different circumstances, this would be one of the most romantic moments of her life. Candles and star-like lights, a warm fire, a handsome, good-smelling man sharing a blanket with her . . . but for now, there were two young boys asleep only a few feet away, and the man in question was her commanding officer, not her lover.

It was nice to dream, though.

They stayed like that for awhile, before she became uncomfortable and squirmed around, trying to find a more agreeable position. He tolerated this at first, but soon became annoyed and gently guided her to lean against him, her head against his shoulder. It took her a moment, but she eventually relaxed against his side, whispering an absent "You're warm."

"One of my better qualities," he smiled, and ran his fingers through her short hair. They passed the next few moments in silence, before she sat up a little to breathe on her hands and rub them together quickly, generating heat.

"Here," he said, guiding her back into his arms, covering her hands with his. "Is that better?"

She cuddled against him a little and sighed contentedly. "Mhm. Thank you, sir."

It really was nice to dream.

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_816 words. Review?  
_

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	9. Mischief

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

_Author's Note: Not the best, I know, but it's still pretty cute. Continued from previous themes 'Why?' 'O Child-sama' and 'Cold Hands'. Christmas fic. Based loosely on something Christine Persephone and I RP'd in the BloodRayne universe. Uh . . . yeah. Enjoy._

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**Theme 38 :: Mischief**

It was Christmas Eve and time for the Hughes' annual Christmas party. It was a small affair, hardly large enough to even consider it an actual party, consisting of Maes, Gracia, Roy, Riza, Jean Havoc, Alex Louis Armstrong and now the young Elrics. Good friends, good food and, for the adults, good drink.

Gracia put Ed and Al in charge of stringing popcorn to decorate the tree, and they did so happily, with only minor finger pricks to show for it.

Riza and Gracia, being the women of the group, and thus the most artistically apt (or so Gracia argued), helped the Elrics put their proudly made popcorn chains on the tree and together hung ornaments while the men were ordered to rearrange the furniture so as to give them more room for the festivities.

"Can I put the star on top?" Al implored. "Please?"

"You're too small," Ed reminded him.

"Hey, you're short, too," his brother replied with a pout.

"Who are you calling so short he can't see the star on a Christmas tree without a telescope?!" he protested, stomped and crossed his arms angrily over his chest.

"Edward!" was Riza's stern reprimand. "You know you're not supposed to talk to your brother like that. Go up to the attic and bring down the rest of the decorations, and think about what you've done."

"But-!" Ed protested, before Roy cut in.

"You heard your aunt; now go before I think of something worse."

Ed grumbled and trudged upstairs in search of decorations. Roy sighed. "I'm trying," he shrugged.

"You're doing a fine job, sir," Riza assured him. "Ed's just a little more . . . difficult than his brother."

"I suppose you're right," he agreed.

"Auntie Riza?" Al was looking up at her with big pleading eyes, sweet-talking her. "Could I please put the star on the tree? I promise I'll be really careful."

"Well . . ."

"Here, Al, I'll help you," Roy said, lifting the boy into his arms with a grunt. Riza smiled at them before handing Al the porcelain star. The child beamed and, with great pride, fixed the star to the top of the tree. Nearby, Alex applauded and proceeded to tell the rest of the guests about how expert Christmas tree-decorating techniques have been passed down the Armstrong line for generations; everyone groaned.

Meanwhile, Ed was in the attic, shuffling through boxes to find the right one, when he came across a familiar looking plant, signifying that this must be the Christmas decorations. He almost put the plant back. Almost. But instead grinned mischievously and pocketed it. Whistling to himself, he dragged the box downstairs to meet everyone else.

The adults all joined for a glass of wine or two in the dining room while the children were to decorate as they pleased. Little did they know the young Elrics were really conspiring, making the preparations they'd need for Ed's plan to work.

Later, the adults, a little tipsy, returned to a beautifully decorated living room and two beaming boys. Armstrong congratulated them on a job well done and Jean ruffled their hair.

Tearing away from the conversation, Al ran to the center of the room and called out, "Aunt Riza? Uncle Roy? Come here, I have something to show you."

The two in question looked at one another and shrugged before doing as the boy had requested. Quietly, Ed snuck up behind them, and, once they were in place, flipped up the rug to reveal a transmutation circle drawn in chalk on the ground. He transmuted the floor into a ladder and climbed upward, fastening a sprig of the mysterious plant – mistletoe – to the ceiling above the two stunned officers.

The other guests stopped what they were doing and stared, gaping at the boys' ability to do something they'd all been thinking for years. Ed climbed back down, transmuted the floor back to normal, and joined Al in waiting expectantly for the reaction.

They were both blushing, avoiding eye contact, when Maes called out, "Oh, come on, Roy, just kiss the girl! You know you want to."

Roy raised his eyebrows questioningly at the woman before him and she smiled back a little nervously. "Merry Christmas, Riza," he whispered, tilting her chin up with his fingertips. With that, he leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips to hers.

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_731 words. Tell me what you think!  
_


	10. Things One Cannot Understand

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

_Author's Note: Another continued from 'Why?', 'O Child-sama', 'Cold Hands', and 'Mischief'. And I have two more planned to go along with this. I promise I'll get out of this cute phase soon and move onto some angst. I'm just extremely amused by this AU right now, and it's helping me roll along with NaNo. And I find Riza and young!Al to be adorable, I just can't resist them. Now, a tenth of the way through the set, I'd like to point out that 'Cold Hands' is my favorite so far. It makes me happy. :) Okay, well, enjoy!_

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**Theme 19 :: Things One Cannot Understand**

One night, Riza was tucking young Alphonse into bed when he suddenly asked. "Why aren't you and Uncle Roy married?"

"What?" she asked, clearly taken aback.

"Why aren't you married?"

"Because we aren't," she said sensibly, resuming the process of their nightly rituals.

"But don't you love him?"

She stopped and looked at the boy, wondering how much she should tell him. She considered for a moment, before deciding it wasn't a good example for her to lie so blatantly to him. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"And he loves you," it was a statement, not a question.

She lowered her eyes. "I . . . believe the Lieutenant Colonel cares for me. He is a good man and he is always concerned for others."

"He kissed you at the Christmas party."

She smirked a little and squeezed his sides through the blankets, tickling him, "Yes, but only because you tricked us, you sneaky little thing."

He laughed and squirmed away from her. "He loves you," he said again.

"I think it's time for bed," she said sternly.

Alphonse ignored this and continued along this logic. "If you love him, and he loves you, then why aren't you married?"

"Things aren't as simple as that, Al."

"But when two people love each other, don't they get married? That's what Mom always said."

"We can't, Al," Riza said quietly, hoping he was sleepy enough he wouldn't remember this conversation in the morning. "It's not allowed."

Al remained thoughtfully silent for a moment, before inquiring, "But if it was allowed, and Uncle Roy asked you, would you marry him?"

"Yes, I suppose," she said, leaning down and giving him an affectionate pet good-night. "But now it's past your bedtime."

As she was leaving his room, he called out to her again, "I still don't understand why you can't get married."

She turned and smiled sadly back at him, "There are many things in this world one simply cannot understand."

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_334 words. Reviews make my day. ;)  
_


	11. Storelined Streets

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Author's note: Continuing directly from the previous one-shot, "Things One Cannot Understand", another very short piece. Mostly because I am fairly ahead length-wise, but behind in completion. Thus there being one basic story throughout the previous one-shot, this one, and the next one, but they all have different themes, if that makes sense. Anwyays, I thought this was cute, so enjoy.

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**Theme 8 :: Store-lined Streets**

Roy and Riza had each received a hefty bonus for their good work and for taking on the young Elrics. They'd discussed this extra money, and decided it best to start a college fund for each boy. Riza saved the rest of hers, while Roy decided to be a bit more . . . spontaneous.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and he had taken Al off Riza's hands so she could have some time to herself and meet Gracia and that other friend of theirs at that restaurant they always talked about. The boys (Ed included) had been delighted when Roy told them they were going shopping.

Ed and Al ran about the stores, picking out comic books and action figures, and Roy simply nodded and carried the heavier bags.

They were walking down the store-lined streets when he finally asked, "So, what do you think we should get for your Aunt Riza? She should get something, too, don't you think?"

Al's face immediately lit up and he beckoned his uncle to bend down to his level. Roy complied and Al cupped his little hands around his mouth and whispered his plan. A small smile slowly crept over the man's face. "Yes," he said. "I like that idea."

And with that in mind they turned into the next fine jewelry store they saw, in search of one very special ring for one very special lady._  
_

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_240 words. Show me some love.  
_


	12. Gift

Disclaimer: Does it look like I own anything?

Author's Note: So here it is, the follow-up to 'Store-lined Streets'. I have no clue why everything is coming out in Cute. I started this NaNo expecting to write bunches and bunches of angst and this couple really lends itself towards that. But no, I am writing absurd amounts of fluff. :P Ah well, it's sweet. But this is the last in the series of Life With the Young Elrics or whatever you feel like calling it. At least for now. I might come back to them in the future, we'll see. Young Al has to be my favorite, though. Also, this chapter had been planned to not be how it is originally. But in the course of sleeping last night and going running this morning I totally spaced it, so you get this instead, and I'm rather fond of the way it turned out. So enjoy. :) I'll try to get another chapter up by tonight.

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**Theme 59 :: Gift**

About a week after their shopping trip, the four of them were having dinner at Roy's apartment, a special Xing dish he'd whipped up for them. The Elrics were chatting excitedly about how to use the new transmutations Roy had taught them, while Riza was watching Roy with great interest. He was as polite and hospitable as he always was hosting dinner, but there was something off, something she just couldn't put her finger on.

When dinner was over, Riza stood to help clear the table but Roy insisted she needn't help, and to just make herself at home. She frowned and followed the boys to Ed's room, where they showed her their progress in alchemy. Impressed, she excused herself and sought to find something to occupy her time, and wound up in Roy's small study, examining the impressive collection of books – most on alchemy – and was amused to find some comic books among the rest.

There was a knocking from the study door and she whirled around, a little embarrassed at having been caught snooping. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was just . . ."

Roy smirked and waved it off, "It's fine." It was odd; he almost looked . . . nervous. "Could I, uh, talk to you for a second?"

"Sir?" she asked, concerned.

"Please?"

"Of course," she nodded, hoping to get to the root of whatever was causing him to act so off.

He closed the door and sat on the sofa, gesturing for her to do the same.

"Riza, I . . ."

"Sir, whatever it is that's troubling you, you can tell me. I'll understand."

He smiled and nodded. "Exactly my point."

"Sir?"

He sighed and began, "I was talking to Alphonse a few days ago . . ."

* * *

Outside, the Elric brothers each had an ear pressed against the door.

"Can you hear what they're saying?" asked Al.

"Sorta," replied his brother. "I just heard him mention us."

"What! But he's supposed to be asking her."

"Hey, all I heard was, 'I was talking to Al'."

Al smirked. "Hah! So he was talking about _me_, not _us_."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

* * *

Riza blushed and lowered her eyes, clearly embarrassed. "Sir, I'll have you know, I was just trying to get him to go to sleep. I gave him the answers he wanted."

Roy seemed not to pay this any mind and continued. "He said that you had spoken to him of me and he told me that certain feelings might be . . . mutual."

"Oh, no, sir, I'm sure he just misunder-" she paused, looking up at him wide-eyed. "Mutual?"

"Is that really so much of a surprise?"

"Well, no, I mean maybe a little, I guess I just never thought that you'd . . ." she trailed off, adjusting her skirt distractedly, the usually calm and composed second lieutenant thoroughly frazzled for once in her life.

"But we can't act on those feelings," he said suddenly, the smile falling from his face.

"No," she sighed. "We can't."

After a moment of silence, he went on. "You know of my plans to be Fuhrer, Hawkeye. You promised to support me and help push me to the top, did you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"I have a long way to go, and I want to know if you'll follow me for as long as it takes."

"Even into Hell, sir."

"But I will get there," he asserted. "Someday."

She nodded, wondering what this speech was all about, when he handed her a piece of paper, folded in fourths.

"This is my agenda, in order of priority, for when I reach my goal."

She looked up at him, puzzled, before unfolding the list. There were many important reforms that would greatly affect the Amestrian people on that list, but the first item was all that mattered to her at that moment.

'_Abolish fraternization laws.'_

* * *

"I still can't hear!" Al complained.

"Sh!" Ed hissed. "Here, just be really quiet." And with that he cracked the door open as quietly as possible, pushing his brother to sit on the floor below them, peeking into the study.

* * *

She looked up at him, a little surprised to find herself trembling. "Sir?"

He smiled, threw the list on a nearby table and slipped his hand into hers. "Riza, I know it's a lot to ask you to wait, but that's exactly what I'm doing. You've given me so much throughout the years, and I know it's selfish to ask you to give me any more of yourself, but perhaps," he released her hand, and rifling through his pockets until he found the item he was looking for, "perhaps this will be a start in my repaying you." He held out his hand to her and there, resting in his palm, was a small diamond mounted on a simple gold band.

"Sir . . ." she breathed, staring at it. "I . . . I don't know what to say."

"I would start with a 'yes' or a 'no'," he grinned, "though I personally hope you'd choose the former."

She looked up at him, opening her mouth to speak, but at first no words came out and she nodded repeatedly. "Yes," she whispered, finally finding her voice. "Yes," she said with a little more volume.

He took her hand to slip the ring onto the appropriate finger, an unspoken agreement already that she'd wear it round her neck with her dog tags until the time came. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"She said yes!" a small voice whispered nearby.

"She what?!" And there was a crash as both Elrics fell into the room, tripping over one another.

Riza pulled away from her fiancé and laughed. "Were you two eavesdropping?" But the only response she got was two gigantic flying hugs from the two young alchemists.

"Sorry I told your secret, Aunt Riza," Al whispered.

She merely pulled the boy closer and laughed, "Thank you, Al."

Ed sternly approached Roy and folded his arms across his chest. The flame alchemist tried not to laugh and squared up against his pint-sized opponent. "You'll take care of her?" the boy asked.

Roy nodded, "Of course."

Ed held out his hand and Roy shook it. "Congratulations."

There were many more congratulations and hugs before Roy announced, "This calls for a celebration. Who wants ice cream?"

Without another word, the Elrics bolted to the kitchen to get bowls and spoons, leaving the couple alone once more. Riza positioned herself comfortably in Roy's arms and remained silent, admiring her ring.

Roy trailed his fingertips up and down her bare arm. "Do you like it? The boys helped me pick it out."

"Mhm," she purred, nestling closer to him. "It's just perfect. Everything is just perfect."

"Is it worth waiting for?"

She sat up to look at him, stroking his bangs away from his eyes, and opened her mouth to respond, but chose otherwise. Instead, she simply leaned forward and claimed his lips with hers.

That was all the answer he needed.

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_1,187 words. :)  
_


	13. If you would only turn around

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

Author's Note: Very brief. Mostly because I am suitably ahead in wordcount but sadly behind in completion. Enjoy.

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**Theme 84 :: If you would only turn around . . .  
**

He watched her.

It wasn't a creepy kind of watch, but a noticing, a constant awareness out of the corner of his eye when she was around.

He noticed the sounds her boots made padding through the office – an uneven rhythm caused by a barely perceptible limp, a remainder of a gunshot wound in Ishbal.

He noticed the way she tilted her chin to the side as she read through her paperwork, and the angle at which she wrote and signed her name.

He noticed the way her hand hovered above her holster when not otherwise occupied, always ready for an attack.

He noticed the little mole on her hairline at the back of her neck.

He noticed the softness in her eyes when she bent down to pet Black Hayate.

He noticed the way she bit her bottom lip when she read, the more interesting the book, the tighter the bite.

He noticed that she changed her earrings every Monday.

He noticed the callused strength of her hands as they brushed his, passing the day's paperwork back and forth.

He noticed her silhouette at the window, backlit by the sun's last rays – soft curves barely noticeable through the frumpy, unisex uniform; a proud, aware stance, graceful almost. He found her captivatingly beautiful.

He noticed her.

If only she would turn around and notice him.

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_234 words. 3  
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	14. So I'm crying

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: Another shorty. Many thanks to my best friend Kate who chose the theme when I was being too decision-making impaired to do so myself. Enjoy.

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**Theme 25 :: 'So I'm crying'**

It was one year ago that Brigadier General Maes Hughes died. And that was why she knew exactly where to find him.

Riza Hawkeye held her uniform jacket closed tightly around her, blocking out as much chill as she could, as she walked through the cemetery.

She saw him, sitting there, staring contemplatively at the marker.

"Sir," she said gently, standing behind him. "I brought you a coat."

He mumbled something unintelligible and didn't turn around to face her.

"Sir," she said insistently. When he still gave her no response, she bent down and draped the coat over his shoulders. "They said there would be rain today."

He nodded, and with closer inspection, she could tell he was trembling. No, she reasoned to herself, it was cold. He was probably merely chilled.

So she stood behind him for the better part of an hour, saluting the grave of their departed friend, not budging an inch in the frigid wind.

It began to grow dark and she laid a hand on Roy's shoulder. "Sir, I think it's about time for us to go."

He turned to look up at her, his eyes red and swollen, the area around his lips discolored as well, old tear tracks coursing down his cheeks.

"Sir," she breathed, kneeling down beside him.

"So I'm crying," he muttered, burying his face in his arms to hide the tears. "So what?"

She only sat there for a moment, wondering if he, with all his damned pride, would try to pull it together so she wouldn't see. She didn't mind, his pride did.

But he didn't stop.

It started with a hand on his arm, then both, and finally she just laid her cheek against his shoulder blade, her arms wrapping themselves tightly about his waist. "Me, too," she whispered, letting some tears soak into his coat. "Me, too."

They stayed like that for a long while, crying. And then, it began to rain.

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Meh, not the best, but what can I say? 331 words. 


	15. Categorize

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Author's Note: On the vaguely cute side. Based off an idea I got while reading . . . whichever chapter it is. Where Ed's like, wow, there's lots of boxes and Riza's just like uh . . . It almost seemed to me she wasn't living there at all, and I don't mean she's been at the office 24/7. ;) Long live the hope that they're actually secretly together through (at least) some of the manga::ahem:: Yes. So, here you have it. A tiny little thing alluding to something that would make us all very, very happy.**  
**

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**Theme 80 :: Categorize**

Unpacking those stupid moving boxes was proving to be quite a task. Possessions tossed together regardless of purpose; it forced her to categorize them into where they'd later go.

She was in the living room, surrounded by piles. There was one for the kitchen supplies, another for books (which, in turn, was sorted by subject), a small stack of personal items, there was a little area designated for picture frames and other decorative odds and ends, and it seemed everything else just spread out from there, weaving around the maze of boxes, quite possibly making the whole ordeal more complicated than it needed to be.

"Riza?" came Roy's voice from the front door of the apartment. "I brought take-out."

"Ah, okay," she said, looking around and realized she'd essentially painted herself into a corner. "Thank you, Colonel." He seemed not to have noticed her predicament and was already in the kitchen, laying out their meal.

"Did you find the kitchenware?" he asked, shuffling through the empty cabinets.

"Well, yes, sir," she said, tip-toeing through the piles. She made her way over to where she'd put those things.

He poked his head into the room and chuckled. "You couldn't just put things away as you got to them, could you?"

"Of course not," she frowned, bending down to retrieve some utensils and a couple plates. "That would just be asking for reorganization at every phase. This way," she pointed a fork at him, "we unpack once, we organize once, less time."

"Some would just say you're obsessive compulsive or something."

She shot him a look that clearly said, 'if you don't want to be dodging bullets for the rest of the night, I'd really shut up if I were you'.

He swallowed nervously. "Uh, need some help?" He gave her a winning smile and offered a hand to help her out.

She gladly took it. "Thank you, Colonel."

He pulled her to safety out of the sea of his belongings and led her into the kitchen, one hand resting lightly on her waist. "And just think," he said. "Once we're done here we can move onto your apartment."

She groaned. "If our progress thus far is any indication, I'll be doing all the work here _and_ there."

He smirked and seated her at the table, serving her some of the delicious Xingese takeout he'd acquired.

But it's not like it really mattered if she ever got around to unpacking her apartment; it could remain in boxes for as long as was necessary. After all, she wouldn't actually be _living_ there.

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_433 words. Thoughts?  
_


	16. Fingertips

Disclaimer: Again, I'm a poor college student. I own NOTHING.

Author's Note: Another cute one that I've had planned since the beginning, but haven't written until now. Fairly common idea, but who can resist? I'm actually, believe it or not, planning a second set of the Young Elrics. I have ideas. Though they won't be so young anymore, but . . . keep an eye out for them. When I run out of other ideas they'll be the next ones up. And actually, after NaNo, I may take the concept of that AU and some of the scenes and work it into its own fic. We shall see. Well, enjoy young!Riza and young!Roy cuteness now. :)

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**Theme 50 :: Fingertips**

It was an unspoken agreement that he was not to write down anything that was contained in the tattoo that wasn't necessary. Only whatever he needed to work the wonders of flame alchemy.

As was such, they spent two weeks primarily in her bedroom, her lying unmoving on her stomach as he sat on the bed beside her, reading, deciphering and memorizing the passages inscribed on her back.

Flame alchemy already seemed to him to be a destructive force – something that would have to be used for protection, instead of creation.

Simply put, flame alchemy was death.

That's what made the code so fitting. Her father had encrypted his research into the Requiem mass. It was ingenious really, to use such a common, well-known and well-loved text to put on his daughter's back. Anyone who saw it might think she had taken a certain liking for the mass itself, and would dismiss the tattoo altogether. It was ingenious.

Ingenious and downright sickening.

Things like this always sound good on paper, in stories. The brilliant scientist leaves behind his research – something that could potentially save or destroy the world – but hides it on the body of his beautiful daughter.

But here in the real world, it destroyed her life. She couldn't be like other girls now, going to the beach wearing some scandalous bathing suit (which, he noted, he would be more than happy to see), or dress up for school dances or her wedding in some backless number that would blow any guy's socks off.

No, now she'd been turned into a mere scientific journal, something to be studied. Her father had ripped her humanity away from her with the first touch of that tattoo needle.

He had been tentative at first, simply leaning over her, adjusting the lamp as needed, following the tiny script as best he could, but soon his eyes grew too tired for such a task, and he allowed his hand to hover over her skin, allowing him to follow the words more easily.

They spoke a little, mostly of the tattoo, finding it a surprisingly safe subject unlike her father's death or the military. "Did it hurt?" he asked once.

"Like Hell," she responded.

So their first few days and nights passed.

Finally his bravery caught up to him, and he allowed his fingertips to trace along the inked lines, occasionally taking a detour along her elegant spine, her shoulder blades the vague outline of her ribs. The first time, she squirmed and he stopped, withdrawing his hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Riza."

"No, no," she said. "It's fine. Go right ahead."

He resumed trailing his fingertips over her skin, noting the gooseflesh that followed in his wake. She squirmed again and he sighed, "Really Riza, I'll stop if you want me to."

"No, it's fine, Mr. Mustang. Really."

"Riza, you keep wriggling around. You're not fine."

She sat up a little, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. "It's not that," she said, cheeks tinted pink in embarrassment. "It's just that it . . . tickles."

He laughed a little, "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"No, it's fine," she smiled. "It's not you, it's just . . ."

"Yeah, I get it."

She lay back down and snuggled into her pillow, waiting for him to resume. When he did, she was pleased to note he applied more pressure with the pads of his fingers, creating a vaguely pleasurable sensation as opposed to the previous tickling.

As the night wore on, he gained more confidence and took the opportunity to work some kinks out of her back and neck while he worked. He figured she might as well get something out of this as well.

He eventually grew tired and yawned.

"Tired?"

"Mm, no," he lied.

She nestled into her pillow, prepared to go to sleep while he was still working (she found him trust-worthy enough not to try anything while she slept), as she had done several nights before. She was halfway asleep when he leaned down to better examine some detail in the array and, succumbing to his exhausted mind, he laid his cheek against her back, swearing he was only going to close his eyes for a moment.

"Mr. Mustang?" she whispered, a little unnerved by this sudden intimacy.

"Mm, five more minutes," he murmured against her skin.

"All right," she relented, secretly enjoying the warmth he provided. "Five more minutes." But soon she, too, fell into a contented sleep.

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_753 words. Reviews are love.  
_


	17. Dependency

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

Author's Note; Still don't know why everything is coming out in Cute. Ah, well.

* * *

**Theme 27 :: Dependency**

Hawkeye had the morning off. It was a fairly rare occurrence, and she fully intended on using it to catch up on some sleep.

Regardless, the alarm clock went off at 0500 hours as it always did, and she groaned, nudging the warm lump beside her to please turn the infernal contraption _off_. It obeyed, but quickly resumed its previous position, nuzzling its cold nose into her neck.

"Colonel?" she sighed, cuddling into the warmth. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Just five more minutes," he whispered, kissing her hair.

Five minutes passed and she managed to kick him out of bed and steer him in the direction of the shower. She settled back into bed and Black Hayate curled up against her, replacing the warmth once supplied by her commanding officer.

She watched him come out of the bathroom, one towel around his waist, the other ruffling through his hair, and change into his uniform. He came over and planted a kiss on her forehead, and she reached up to kiss him back, reminding him it was supposed to rain today and he needed to take an umbrella with him.

He got to the office and was surprised to find a stack of papers on his desk with a note from Riza saying when each set had to be done and how she'd know if he slacked off this morning. He grumbled, crumpled the note and threw it into the trashcan before starting in. About five pages in, he decided he could take a break once he was through with this one. He signed the bottom, moved the sheet to the 'completed' stack and was just about to kick up his feet and relax when he saw another note from his lieutenant, reading simply 'no slacking off'. He groaned, crumpled this note as well, and continued to work.

This pattern went on for quite awhile until the entire stack was done. He was just about to _finally_ take a break when a familiar blonde strode in and handed him another stack of paperwork. "Here, sir." She smiled when she saw no incomplete papers on his desk. "I told you," she smirked, "you needed me to get your work done."

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_373 words.  
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	18. Shirt

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: More cute. Don't ask. **  
**

* * *

**Theme 32 :: Shirt**

She'd heard of other women doing this, but never thought herself that sappy or romantic or helpless to want to do it herself. It seemed to represent a sort of fragility she always tried to distance herself from – that sexist feminine stereotype that she avoided so desperately.

But temptation turned to curiosity and curiosity back to temptation, and she just had to do it once.

Roy often stayed at her apartment when it rained, or she at his, for he needed comfort from nightmares these nights the most, and she had a secret hatred of thunder. They kept spare clothes tucked in the back of each other's wardrobes, and took the liberty of washing any dirty clothing the other may have left at their home.

So when Riza was sorting laundry that evening, she couldn't help but notice one of Roy's rumpled button-down shirts in the lights pile, ready to be washed. She thought for a moment, considering. She lived alone; no-one would have to know if she did it just this once. With that, she threw the offending garment off to the side for later use and continued along with her laundry.

That night it began to rain. No, not just rain, but pour. It was miserable outside and the water was loud enough to make up for the lack of thunder. This storm hadn't been predicted in the earlier forecast and she wondered if maybe her colonel would call and invite her over to spend the rest of the evening with him.

She expected him to_call_, not _come calling_.

Through the pillow tightly held to her ears she could hear someone knocking on her door and Black Hayate barking at the potential intruder.

She rolled out of bed, too tired to even bother with a robe, and made her way to the front door, pushing her overly excited dog behind her legs as she did so.

Of course, it just had to be Roy Mustang – a soaking wet and shivering Roy Mustang, at that.

"Colonel?"

He stared at her, studying her – her legs bare up to mid-thigh, her collar open enough to show an ample amount of cleavage, her hands covered entirely by the long sleeves. "Lieutenant," he said, trying to look her in the eye but failing miserably, "You're wearing my shirt."

She looked down at her ensemble, apparently having forgotten, but quickly composed herself and replied, "Yes. Yes, I am, sir."

He momentarily tore his gaze away from where her dog tags settled between her breasts and smiled at her. "It looks good on you."

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_434 words.  
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	19. All Night VigilSleepless Night

Disclaimer: You should know by now that I own nothing. Really.

Author's Note: So it's a little angsty and it's sweet. It's almost a mirror of chapter two 'Watching Over You'. Sort of. Same setting, I guess. I rather like it, though it's not the best so far. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 46 :: All Night Vigil/Sleepless Night**

At first, he hadn't known what to say or do. There was a fire burning nearby, the attacker now gone up in flames. That had been instinct, a reflex.

But when he turned to see his lieutenant, _his _lieutenant, lying on the ground, trying to hold onto consciousness, he hesitated. He hadn't hesitated to snap his fingers and kill the man that did this, nor had he hesitated to kill hundreds, no thousands of innocents at once, but now he hesitated.

It was only for a moment, and soon he was kneeling beside her, pressing against the bullet wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding a little. "Hawkeye!" he shouted. "Hawkeye! Can you hear me?" She didn't respond, just lolled her head from side to side, the only thing she could think to do. "Dammit Riza just talk to me!"

She'd heard those words, him calling her by her given name, the way he did when they were alone. It was a pleasant memory to have just before fading into darkness.

* * *

"Is she going to be all right?" Colonel Mustang asked.

The doctor sighed. "She lost a lot of blood, but she should recover." The officer nodded and the doctor commented absently, "You've got a hell of a bodyguard there, Colonel, to stop a bullet for you. It narrowly missed her heart; I think she was prepared to die for you."

Mustang looked up at him sadly, "I know." After a moment he asked, "May I see her?"

"Of course," the doctor said, gesturing to the door. "She won't wake up for awhile, but there's no harm in you being there," he gestured to Roy's civilian clothes and haggard appearance – he hardly looked like himself, and any further assassination attempts tonight were unlikely.

"Thank you," he said, slipping inside.

Like the doctor said, she was still asleep, fresh out of surgery. Her entire torso was bandaged and it appeared they'd yet to clean up the bed or put her in a hospital gown (he inwardly smacked himself for thinking how wonderful it would be to see her in such a garment and nothing else). "Lieutenant Hawkeye?" he asked, answered only by the beeping of machines monitoring her vitals.

"Riza?" he whispered pulling up a chair and sitting near her head. "I'm here, Riza."

He reached out and took her hand in his, careful of the IV. He watched her for awhile, simply holding her hand, massaging warmth back into the cold fingers. She was lucky to have made it, and he was lucky to still have her.

"Riza, I know you can't hear me, and I know these sorts of things are supposed to be saved for when someone's dying – and you're not, you're going to pull through, the doctor even said so – but I realized something today." He paused briefly and moved instead to sit on the edge of the bed, where he felt he could speak more quietly. "I realized how easily I could lose you. I almost lost you today and . . . and I . . ."

He broke off long enough for an elderly nurse to come into the room and request him to leave for a moment while she changed the sheets and cleaned Riza up. He complied, and found himself a cup of coffee and returned to a still unconscious, slightly cleaner Riza.

He sat down beside her and claimed her hand once more. "So I almost lost you today," he resumed. "And to be quite honest, I have never been more terrified in my entire life. I owe you my life, Riza, a thousand times over. You mean more to me than anything. I know it's cliché, but if you were gone, there just wouldn't be anything left worth fighting for. Even my dream wouldn't matter as much without you there to share it with me. Just like when Hughes . . ." he trailed off.

"I think it's stupid, Riza," he said. "I think it's stupid that you're my bodyguard; that you get to die for me, but I'm not allowed to die for you. Because I would. Gladly."

He stayed with her the rest of the night (a nurse informed him that even after the anesthesia wore off, she'd be likely to sleep awhile) and held her hand. Accustomed to using his charisma and good looks to get what he wanted, he was surprised that looking pitiful was conviction enough to get nurses to bring him fresh cups of coffee throughout his all night vigil.

Her hair was still up in that clip of hers, and he thought, it can't possibly be comfortable to sleep like that, and he removed the offending piece of plastic, laying it on her bedside table. No, that couldn't have been good for her neck. Or maybe he just wanted to be able to stroke her hair.

Either way, he didn't sleep that night, determined to be there and awake when she finally returned to the land of the living, wanting more than anything to thank her for watching his back.

It was the least he could do after she almost died for him.

Again.

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868 words. See that little button down there? It's there for a reason. ;) 


	20. Before Falling Asleep

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: So more cute. But it's young!Roy and young!Riza so of course it's going to be a little cute, though wistful at the end. I realized the connection to the theme was a little hazy so I tried to work it in directly but it came out a little stiff. Oh, well. This might be all for tonight cos I have a paper due tomorrow, a homework due and two tests (thermodynamics and a design class) so I'll be pretty well occupied the rest of the night. ;) Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 58 :: Before Falling Asleep**

When they were young, Roy and Riza were 'normal'. They weren't killers; they were children. Brought together in childhood, he her father's promising young pupil and she, an exemplary daughter, neither seen nor heard unless she was needed.

It wasn't 'proper' for them to forge a friendship at such a young age, but it happened anyways.

When Riza was almost nine and Roy almost twelve, Hawkeye Sensei had to leave for a few days to meet with an old colleague in Central. He considered bringing the children with him, but soon decided they would only be a burden, and they were old enough to take care of themselves for a short time.

So, he left, on a cold winter's morning, leaving strict instructions (even written on a slip of paper) on how Roy was to care for Riza. Roy had nodded and waved as his teacher left, and as soon as he was out of sight, ripped the list into tiny pieces and threw them to the wind.

Simply put, they had the time of their lives.

Now, they were still children, not troubled teenagers, and did nothing that would result in long-term effects. They made ice cream sundaes and he taught her how to make s'mores in the fireplace, and then they turned on her father's old gramophone and taught each other how to dance, Riza tripping along in a pair of her late mother's high heels.

And when it was time for bed, instead of retreating to their own rooms for the night, they padded the living room floor with quilts and pillows, tangling themselves in warmth and softness.

It was the second night, and Roy was lying in the fire lit room, a warm blonde head on his stomach. "Mr. Mustang?" Riza asked, still refusing to use his given name despite her father's absence.

"Hm?" He propped himself up on his elbows to look at her.

"What do you want to do with your life?"

He laughed a little, bouncing her head against his abdomen. "I want to be an alchemist, of course."

She rolled her eyes. "But what do you want to _do_? You can't just be an alchemist, or you'd end up like my father. Don't you want to do something with it?"

He stared at the ceiling contemplatively. "I want to help people."

She smiled a little. "I like that."

"What about you, Riza?" One of his hands settled on her head.

"I don't know yet. I think the same thing – help people."

"We could do it together," he proposed.

"But I'm not an alchemist."

He shrugged a little, at least the best he could without jostling her too much. "We'll find a way."

They lapsed into silence again.

"Riza?" he finally asked.

"Yeah?"

"This has been fun. You and me. Hanging out. I never thought I'd have this much fun with a little kid."

She snorted. "Thanks, I guess." She rolled over and nuzzled him, clearly claiming him as her pillow for the night. "Father must never know."

"Never," he agreed.

Yes, as children they played at their futures like a game of hide-and-seek, inconsequential and hopeful, skirting around what didn't need to be said, fudging the rules when needed.

He tugged a stray quilt over them, arranging it as best he could so as not to suffocate the sleepy girl atop him. It was at once the most comforting and uncomfortable night's sleep he'd have in his entire life, but a memory that never left him.

Years later, at war, he'd think back to that night, thinking of what fools they'd been. Now here they were, no longer children but killers, sharing a tent in the desert on some small, secret mission.

She laid her head there on his abdomen, nuzzling her nose against him, just as she had those many years ago, and he lifted a blanket over her. Closing his eyes, he absently wondered what it would be like to feel this content every night before falling asleep.

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_674 words.  
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	21. The Pounding of a Heart

Disclaimer: I do not own BloodRayne or Fullmetal Alchemist. Though I wish I owned BloodRayne cos obviously Uwe Boll didn't know what to do with it. Le sigh.

Author's Note: I really don't like the way this turned out, but it's NaNo, and I've fallen behind due to schoolwork, so I'll keep it for now. Mind you, this is based on the assumption that somehow Father will make a new Lust to replace the old one. This was also written simultaneously with a paper on Dutch liberal immigration policy so that might have something to do with the bad quality. The . . . really bad quality. Anyways, crossover with BloodRayne. The first thing I thought of when I read the theme was Rayne's Aura Vision. Sort of fitting, because Laura Bailey, the voice of Rayne in the videogames, is also the voice of Lust in the anime. Which is partly why I wanted to do this. And because I figured I could cross all my current fandoms into this except maybe Gilmore Girls, but that, surprisingly, worked out very well. And of course, have you seen Rayne's ball gown in BR2? Very . . . Lust-ful. ;) Okay, so rambling aside, here is a very not-good one-shot with a fairly clever crossover idea behind it.

ETA: Forgot, this chapter contains CHARACTER DEATH.

* * *

**Theme 66 :: The Pounding of a Heart**

It was fairly fitting that she had become the new Lust. Father had made a good choice, safe in the assumption that one of vampiric blood would not reject the philosopher's stone, and had managed to replace the beloved (at least to Gluttony) Lust.

She was once BloodRayne, top agent to the Brimstone Society – an ancient brotherhood dedicated to protecting mankind from paranormal threats. She was once dhampir, not homunculus.

Rayne still existed though, somewhere behind Lust, watching her actions with horror. She retained her Aura Vision, and could still hear the pounding of nearby hearts, still able to tell what was human and what was not. Her own heart beat differently now, replaced by the philosopher's stone, pumping wildly in her chest.

She could hear.

There were two other hearts nearby, both human. She could see one of them – a man with dark hair and dark eyes, eyeing the redheaded beauty warily, eyes trained on the red tattoo on her chest. "So you're back," he said.

"You honestly didn't think I'd be gone for good, did you?" she heard her own voice, now the voice of Lust.

"I hoped," he admitted.

"Naïveté, such a human trait."

"I like your new body," he commented. "Interesting change."

She smirked. "You'd be surprised what vampire blood and the philosopher's stone can do together. Care to find out?"

"I'm sure you'll show me anyways," he said, snapping, sending flames in her direction.

The battle, she thought, was perfectly orchestrated on Lust's part, now knowing his tactics and doing her best to keep from dying every time. He snapped, she dodged and, coming upon him with superhuman speed, she struck, long fingers piercing through his chest, arteries bursting. The scent itself made Rayne wish she had a body if only to lick her lips.

And then she heard one heartbeat weaken.

The second human came running now, finally catching up – a female with blonde hair clipped to the back of her head. She looked at Lust then at the man on the ground. "Colonel!" she yelled, pulling out her gun and stooping to look over her fallen companion.

"Hawkeye . . ." the man breathed out, reaching for her. "Riza, get out of here."

"I can't do that, sir," she said hastily, gun trained on Lust.

"That was an order, Lieutenant."

"Then you're coming with me," she tried to pull him to his feet so he could lean on her, watching the redhead, waiting for an attack.

"You didn't try to shoot me this time," she said. "I see you learned your lesson."

Before Riza could do anything else, she felt a stabbing pain rip through her torso and she, along with Mustang, crumpled to the ground.

Soon, all Rayne could hear was the beating of her own heart.

* * *

473 words. 


	22. Coat

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or D. Gray-man.

Author's Note: Yeah, another crossover. This time with the anime/manga D. Gray-man. If you haven't read it yet, do so! Many people compare it to FMA. When my friend gave me the first volume he was like, artstyle of Kingdom Hearts, possibly better than FMA. And he was right. It's amazing. There'll be a few going along these lines, so bear with me. I explain the important things as they become issues so . . . yeah. Not very Royai-ish quite yet. Some slight hints. I made Riza's mother (in this instance, a canon character that looks alarmingly like Riza) Roy's master. Just cos it wound up working better than her father. Well, I hope this goes over well, cos there will be a few more of these on a more Royai-ish note, just not tonight cos I'm sleepy. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 41 :: Coat**

Roy Mustang grunted as he finally reached the top of the cliff, pulling himself up over the edge and collapsing, struggling to catch his breath. Damn. When his master had sent him here, she hadn't told him about that impossible climb.

"So this is the Black Order, huh?" he looked up at the massive building before, surrounded by the familiar bat-like golems.

Once rested, he approached what he felt must be the entrance. "Hello?" he called.

A nearby golem started glowing red transmitted, "Who are you, young man?"

"Uh, I'm Roy Mustang. General Cloud Nine sent me before she left for Italy. I have a letter . . ."

"General Cloud Nine, you say?"

"Yes, sir," Roy frowned, staring at the golem.

"You were expected here some time ago, young man. Your master isn't going to be pleased when she finds out you've been dilly-dallying all this time."

"Yeah, yeah, save the lecture," Roy grumbled.

"Fine, then. Take the gatekeeper's motive examination."

* * *

It was three hours later when he was finally able to sit in his new room and relax. He'd been scanned by the gatekeeper and found to pose no immediate threat, introduced to Komui Lee, the Supervisor of the Black Order, examined by a creature called Hevlaska to determine his control of his power and been given a tour. All after climbing that stupid mountain.

He groaned and lay down on his bed, his belongings still strewn across the floor. The room was sparse, containing only a bed, a desk and a wardrobe, but it was comfortable.

He was officially an Exorcist now. He had spent the past three years training with one of the Order's five generals, a woman known to him only as Cloud Nine. She was powerful and brilliant, as well as compassionate toward him and her daughter. But he always felt she was hiding something; whenever her late husband was mentioned, she'd quickly grow stern and send him off for more training.

Exorcists. Chosen by God to fight the demons known as akuma – creatures born of a machine, a soul and tragedy – granted the power of Innocence to accomplish their goals. The Black Order. A secret brotherhood fighting against the Millennium Earl, the Clan of Noah and the akuma, the exorcists at its heart.

He was officially a member now.

There was a knock at the door and he moaned rolling out of bed and heading to answer it. There, he was greeted by a smiley Chinese girl in pigtails, Lenalee Lee, Supervisor Komui's assistant and little sister.

"Mr. Mustang," she beamed. "My brother has requested your presence in his office."

Roy yawned and wiped a hand over his face. "Again? Didn't he cover everything earlier?"

She shrugged. "Come along."

He followed her through the winding corridors to the Supervisor's office.

The room was a mess of unfinished (and probably unread) paperwork, piling a mountain on the desk and scattered evenly on the floor. This, he thought, was the way paperwork was meant to be – forgotten.

"Supervisor?"

The man, perhaps a few years older than himself, approached him and clapped him on the back. "Hello there, Roy," he said, taking a sip of coffee from a mug suspiciously branded with the image of a cartoon rabbit. "And call me Komui."

They continued on with formalities before getting down to business.

"We'll give you a few days to get settled," Komui said. "But your talents will be needed soon. We've decided to assign to you our newest Finder."

"Finder?"

"Finders work with the Exorcists, supporting them from below. They do not control Innocence, but they are an integral part of the Order." He took another sip of coffee before continuing, "Like I said, she is our newest Finder, but quite talented. Elizabeth?"

A shape stepped forward from behind a pile of papers. It did appear vaguely female, cloaked and hooded in a light yellow, white bandages covering her face up to her nose. She had a large box – which he would later find to be a telephone – strapped to her back. "Hmm."

"You will be Roy's escort and protector for the time being. I'm assuming you can handle that?"

The figure nodded and Roy could already tell who would be doing the talking in this conversation.

* * *

Roy was almost asleep when again he was disturbed by a loud knocking on his door. He muttered some curses as he crawled over to answer it. There he saw the familiar form of his Finder, a large box tucked under one arm.

"Oh, hello, Elizabeth. Would you like to come in?" he invited, though was really hoping she was just there on a delivery mission so he could go back to sleep.

She stepped inside anyways.

"Okaaaay," he whispered, closing the door behind them. The woman put the box down on his desk and started slipping out of her mask and robes. He was about to protest, but when she turned round again, he was left utterly speechless.

"Riza?" he breathed.

"Hello, Mr. Mustang," she said quietly, combing her fingers through her long blonde hair, adjusting her trousers.

"Why? How?"

She held up a hand and smirked. "My mother sent me. She thought you could use a little looking after."

He rolled his eyes. This was Riza Hawkeye, his master's beautiful daughter.

"You took your time getting here," she said sternly, pointing a finger at him.

He shrugged helplessly. "I . . . uh . . . got lost?"

She frowned and turned to the box she'd brought with her. "Here, I've got something for you." With careful hands, she held up a long black coat, trimmed with silver, sporting a shining cross on the breast pocket, symbolizing his allegiance to the Order. "It's your uniform."

"Wow," he said in awe.

She helped him try it on, holding it as he slipped his arms inside. She lingered for a moment, hands against his back, before turning him around to see how it looked. She nodded approvingly.

"Do I look handsome?" he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not about how it looks. It's symbolic. Wearing this coat tells those who understand that you're there to protect them, that you will put their lives ahead of your own. This coat will bring the akuma to you, and tell other Exorcists you have not joined the dark side. This coat . . ." she straightened the lapels a little, "this coat is your oath to God."

"Riza?"

"Hmm?"

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's nice to see you again."

She flashed him a ghost of a smile. "The feeling is mutual, sir."

* * *

_1,104 words.  
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	23. Welcome Home

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or DGM.

Author's Note: Another DGM-FMA crossover, very AU. Royai-ish hints. I've not been very happy with anything that's come out the past couple days. Probably cos that Thermo test ate my brain. I'll go back and rewrite some of these in December. Anyways, this theme was very fitting for DGM because every time they get a new exorcist they do throw them a party. So Roy deserves one, too. :D

* * *

**Theme 99 :: "Welcome Home"**

Two days later, Roy was having lunch in the mess hall with Riza, Lenalee and a white-haired boy named Allen Walker.

"So Roy," Lenalee asked, smacking Allen's hand (which was trying to steal some food from her plate) with her chopsticks. "What exactly is your innocence?"

Roy slipped his right hand into his pocket and when he held it up again, it was adorned with a white glove, an intricate red design on the back. He snapped his fingers and every unlit candle in the room, on tables and chandeliers alike, was suddenly flickering steadily.

Allen nodded appreciatively, "That's a good trick."

"He's always had a certain . . . flare," Riza commented.

"You know each other?" Lenalee frowned.

"I was General Cloud Nine's apprentice," Roy explained.

"And that means . . ." Allen was still confused.

"She's my mother," Riza shrugged.

Allen's eyes went wide, obviously having not expected that.

"Yes," said Lenalee. "Riza was like a big sister to me growing up. But nii-san still calls her Elizabeth."

Allen finally gave up on ever understanding this conversation.

Lenalee eventually leaned forward and whispered something to Riza, who nodded.

"Come on, sir," she said, pulling him by the sleeve. "There's a few more things you need to see."

* * *

After an hour of tours through entirely inconsequential parts of headquarters, Riza finally led him back to the mess hall. Roy looked tired and slightly aggravated as Riza pulled open the doors and ushered them inside.

It was dark. "Riza? What's this all about?"

She smirked to where his voice was coming from, "Well, maybe you should do the honors." He sighed and snapped his fingers, illuminating the large room instantly.

There he saw the entire Order, at least those stationed in London, gathered around with wineglasses in hand, a large banner over their heads read "Welcome, Roy Mustang!" Allen and Lenalee were at the center of the group, holding a delicious looking cake decorated to look like flames.

"All this?" he turned to Riza. "For me? Did you do this?"

She rolled her eyes. "How very vain of you, sir. No, we do this for all the newcomers."

He still seemed pleased, though a little put out that Riza hadn't planned this especially for him.

She smiled and stepped closer to him, slipping her hand into his and rising on her toes a little to whisper in his ear, "Welcome home, Roy."

* * *

_408 words.  
_


	24. God

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA or DGM.

Author's Note: Last DGM AU crossover. Uh, more Royai, still not liking things too much, but getting better. Considering moving onto the Young Elrics Part II soon, so look out for that. Don't have a whole lot to do next week so expect lots of updates. :)

* * *

**Theme 22 :: God**

They were on their way to their first mission, settled in a private train compartment. Roy was watching Riza intently as she sat stiffly across from him in her uniform, reading, her backpack sitting nearby.

"Do you really have to wear that thing?" he asked.

"It's my uniform, sir. Like your coat is your oath, this is mine." She hadn't even looked up from her book.

"Could you at least take off that mask?"

"Why?" she looked up.

"It just doesn't look like you," he said, clearly unnerved.

She sighed and unwound the bandages, pulling down her hood. "Better?"

"A little." He remained silent for a moment. "Why do you call me sir?"

"Because you're my superior," she said sensibly.

"We're not in the military or anything," he reminded her.

"Yes, we are. We're God's army; I thought you caught onto that."

He shrugged and looked out the window while she returned to her book.

"Have you heard anything from your mother?" he asked, clearly having expected her to entertain him on the ride and not sit there just reading like that.

She nodded. "Just to say she's doing fine and to not let you get into too much trouble."

Roy rolled his eyes. "You'd think she'd trust me more by now."

Riza shrugged and stood, stretching, to straighten out her uniform. Roy took the opportunity to tug her down next to him. "I'm glad you're here," he said quietly. "I knew I was going to miss you."

"Roy," she breathed, taking his hand. "We can't do this. Mother may have let it slide, but it's too dangerous now."

"So this war is coming between us," he said, wrapping the fingers of both hands around hers. "And what's so important to tear us apart?"

"It's God's war, sir." She leaned her head lightly against his shoulder.

"God . . . do you believe in God, Riza?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know what I believe."

"So we're fighting and sacrificing for a God of nebulous existence."

"Sometimes," she murmured, turning her nose into his coat, "I like to pretend I believe. Because it's such a beautiful idea."

He tightened his hold on her hand and planted a chaste kiss to her hair. "I think so, too."_  
_

* * *

_382 words.  
_


	25. Drawing a Boundary Line

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Short and sweet. Not brilliant, but kinda cute, I think.

* * *

**Theme 72 :: Drawing a Boundary Line**

When they first confessed their feelings for one another, Roy and Riza had decided there must be boundaries, limits to their affection.

When it started, they had settled for the minimal amount of display. The occasional shared smile, eyes lingering longer than they once had. Fingers brushing just a tad longer and more deliberately when passing paperwork back and forth.

After some time, they decided to be a little lax in their rules. There was now time for secret hand-holdings, just a light grasp, barely a few seconds long. They'd often touch one another's hair, or press their feet or legs together under the table in the mess hall.

Eventually there were light kisses to each other's cheeks, foreheads and hair, always in private. Sometimes they would go to each other's apartments for dinner, and would spend the latter half of the evening simply curled up on the couch, hands clasped tightly between them.

It was on the one-year anniversary of their confession that they shared their first kiss. There were many that followed, but they were short and sweet, passion blocked by their self-imposed boundaries.

A few months later they finally gave in and were necking like hormone-riddled teenagers, finding every and any opportunity for a brief, heated make out session, anywhere from his office desk to her kitchen table, but it never proceeded any further.

When it had been a year and a half and one of these frantic explorations had managed to find itself on his bed, they finally decided _to Hell with boundaries_.

* * *

264 words. 


	26. Pain & Wounds

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Very AU continuation of the Young Elrics. Kinda sad and sweet. Very very AU. And uh, really tired so going to bed. More tomorrow.

* * *

**Theme 28 :: Pain & Wounds**

It had been many years since the young Elrics had brought Roy and Riza together. They were older now, the boys having become state alchemists, working closely with their uncle in research. Allegedly, Al still lived with Riza and Ed still lived with Roy, but really Ed had moved in with Al and Riza with Roy. It was a perfect arrangement.

Roy wasn't Fuhrer yet, far from it. He was a colonel now and Riza his first lieutenant.

But they were happy. Riza was content to live in sin with Roy, waiting for the opportunity to marry. Her grandfather knew of this arrangement, and, instead of turning them in upon finding out, was possibly more excited than they were. He gave his future grandson a chess board as an engagement gift.

Yes, things were good. Not perfect, but still good.

Riza was finishing up some paperwork late that night, as her boys were busy trying to meet a deadline for some research project directly from the Fuhrer, when she got a most frightening phone call.

"Aunt Riza? It's Al. There's . . . there's been a horrible accident."

* * *

She was at the hospital faster than was humanly possible, scouring the floor they were apparently on for any clue as to where her family could be.

She finally found the right room and frowned to see a man in a large suit of armor blocking entry. "Excuse me, sir, but I need to get in there."

A large metal arm stopped her. "Aunt Riza . . ."

"Al?" she stopped, looking at him. "What on earth are you doing in that suit of armor? Get out of there." She started tugging on his breast plate.

"No, don't . . ." but it was too late. She'd managed to pry him open and see inside – there was nothing there.

"Alphonse?" she was trembling, and he steadied her, leading her over to a nearby bench. She was trying to wrap her mind around this, and failing. "What . . . what happened?"

The hollow suit next to her sighed. "The Fuhrer had given us some old research on these things called homunculi."

"False humans?" she asked.

"Yes. He thought it possible to make one through alchemy, and gave the assignment to the three of us as a team. The theory was solid – human transmutation essentially, but without the soul. It should have worked."

"But it didn't."

"No," he said. "It didn't. Uncle Roy was watching us, to make sure nothing out of the ordinary happened. Brother and I went in for the transmutation, and I felt my body being stripped away from my soul. In the process, Brother lost a leg."

Riza's hand covered her mouth quickly. "Then," she was almost afraid to ask, "then what happened?"

"Uncle Roy and Brother bound my soul to this body," he said, indicating the armor.

"And . . . and the price for that?"

Al put one large hand on Riza's. "Uncle Roy lost his right arm."

Eyes wide with shock, filling with tears, she nodded. "How," she swallowed thickly, "how are they?"

"In a lot of pain," he answered honestly. "But they'll survive."

"Can I see them?"

Al nodded and led her inside.

The room smelled strongly of disinfectant and blood. There were two beds, the one nearest occupied by a familiar blonde, shivering and gritting his teeth in pain through sleep. She briefly came over to him and tucked him in more tightly.

"Riza . . ." the voice behind her was barely audible, ragged with pain.

She turned around to find Roy lying down in bed, watching her through lidded eyes, most of his torso bandaged to keep a tight pressure on his shoulder. He was reaching for her with his remaining hand.

She took it and quickly sat on the bed beside him, smoothing his hair frantically. "Colonel?"

He simply tightened his hold on her hand.

A doctor came in and spoke to Riza about how she was to deal with them, apparently still under the impression that armored Alphonse was merely a young man with interesting wardrobe habits. The doctor smiled kindly and said he'd give them some time alone.

"Roy . . ." she whispered. "God, Roy, I was so scared when Al called me." She struggled to hold back tears, fingertips lightly touching where his arm once was. "You're such an idiot, Mustang, risking your life like that." He opened his mouth to speak, but she continued, "But thank you. You saved my Alphonse. Thank you." She kissed his palm and held it to her cheek.

Edward, as one would expect, was still sleeping.

"Does it hurt?" she said softly.

"You have no idea. The drugs help, but not that much." She was impressed by the lucidity he was gaining. "Call the Rockbells," he added seriously.

"Of course, they need to know about the boys."

"No," he said. "I want you to make an appointment. We'll need automail if we're going to be useful for anything ever again."

"You're not useless," she whispered seriously.

"Not useless?" he looked up at her sadly. "Not useless? Dammit, Riza, I can't even hold you, what good am I going to be to the rest of the world?"

She stared at him for a moment, sympathetically, before settling down against him, wrapping her arms gingerly around his torso. "You're not useless," she whispered against his neck.

He wrapped his arm around her and sighed, slipping once more into a drug-aided slumber.

* * *

925 words. 


	27. Awakening

Disclaimer: Me no owny.

Author's Note: Okay, continuing with the continuation of the Young Elrics series. This one came out kinda sweet, kinda funny. I like it. It's nothing brilliant or artistic, but I am actually quite pleased with it. There's a little EdWin in there for you, too. Uh, I was originally going to cut the last little EdWin bit but it was too funny to pass up, and it doubles over the theme so that's kinda nice. Note - this has some sexual references in it but nothing explicit. Enjoy. :

* * *

**Theme 45 :: Awakening**

Several months later, they were in Risembool, staying with the Rockbells. Since then, Al had discovered his inability to sleep, and spent his nights studying, trying to find a way to return his body, as well as those of his uncle and brother, back to normal. He'd yet to come up with anything.

Winry had been very pleased to see her boyfriend, though the reason for this visit earned him a hard smack in the head with a wrench (followed immediately by a snogging that caused Riza to clear her throat in irritation).

Preparations had been made, and today was to be the day they attached Roy's automail arm.

It was early, the sun barely beginning to filter through the curtains as Riza lay awake, studying him. He was still as handsome as ever, having insisted on maintaining some semblance of physical fitness while he was incapacitated – she was fairly certain now that his flesh arm would be just as strong as the metal one. They'd taken these months off work, he unable to do much around the office, having been right-handed, and she insisting she be there to take care of him as much as possible. They'd left the office in the (hopefully) capable hands of Jean Havoc.

The break was nice, but she was itching to get back to work, and more to go and punch the Fuhrer square in the nose for putting her boys in such a situation they'd come out like this. But Roy always reminded her that it wouldn't do any good, and they might as well stay placing the blame until they could find a way to fix this; to find out what went wrong.

She trailed her fingertips over the scars on his shoulder, shuddering at the pain this must have caused him, placing a delicate kiss on his collarbone.

"Mm," he whimpered, his arm snaking around her slim waist. "Early," he groaned, waking.

"Yes," she agreed.

"What are you doing up?" he kissed the side of her head.

"Just thinking," she said settling against him.

A sly grin crept onto his face. "About last night?"

She swiftly kicked his foot. "You can be such a man sometimes."

"You weren't complaining last night," he reminded her.

"Colonel!"

"And I thought having one arm was going to cause some problems. _Now_, I'm not so sure I want a new arm, if you'd keep doing . . ."

"Colonel Roy Mustang!" she kicked him again, harder. She didn't appear flustered, only extremely irritated.

He chuckled, pulling her more tightly against himself. "Sorry, you said you were thinking about something, Lieutenant?"

She nuzzled her nose in his neck, a familiar sensation, and sighed. "Just everything; us, the boys, the transmutation."

He frowned. "Don't worry about those things; the transmutation and everything. It was our mistake, not yours."

"It just makes me feel a little helpless. I've spent most of my life protecting you, sir, and the one thing I have no control over could have very well taken your life. I feel useless."

"You're not useless," he mimicked her words from before.

She sighed and changed the subject, "But the past few months have been nice. No work."

He gasped dramatically, "Be still my heart, did Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye just say she hates paperwork?"

"Well, I don't mind my own, but otherwise I'd be stuck with _yours_, too. And that's a little much."

"I knew you had ulterior motives for staying home," he grumbled. "Of course you weren't just trying to spend time with me."

She rolled her eyes and kissed his chin. "Well, it did come with a great bonus."

He lifted up a little to kiss her, before nestling once more under her, tugging the covers up over them.

"It's still early, why don't you go back to sleep?" she said softly, rearranging so as to press her lips beneath his ear.

"Only if you get some rest, too," he insisted.

"Mhm," she acquiesced.

Roy settled into a peaceful sleep, only to be awoken soon after by some fairly disturbing sounds from the room Ed and Winry were sharing.

"Payback's a bitch," he told Riza, who couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

701 words. The review button is happy :D 


	28. Skillful & Clumsy

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Okay, still continuing with the Continuation of the Young Elrics. Short, sorta cute, meh.

* * *

**Theme 56 :: Skillful & Clumsy**

"Come on, Colonel, you're making improvement," Riza said, trying to keep her fiancé on task.

"Improvement?" he asked, agitated.

"Well, yes, you almost had it there for a second."

He frowned. "I don't know why I can't just use my left hand."

"Because who knows when you're left hand is going to be incapacitated, now come on."

It was their first day of practice after having his arm attached. They'd started with simple things, like range of motion, letting him get used to the feel of his new limb. Then they'd moved onto holding things – picking up blocks and such, then smaller things like silverware. They'd tested his control of his grasp, having him hold Riza's hand – he knew he'd squeezed far too hard a few times but she insisted he was doing just fine.

Now he was trying to learn to snap again. It was obvious he'd be able to after some time, but his coordination was a little off. His first few attempts had been pretty pathetic but after awhile he almost had it. It was then that he got frustrated and it had just gone downhill from there.

He snapped with his left hand. "It's not that hard," he petulantly told his right hand. He slumped down on the couch, disgruntled.

She sat down next to him and ran her fingers over his metal arm. "You're doing fine," she said quietly. "You just need to relax and stop beating yourself up over it."

He just leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes.

It only took her a few seconds to find her place tucked against his side, the new arm around her. She snapped her fingers slowly, watching the movements, then manipulated his fingers to do the same. She went back to her own hand for observation, then continued her work.

He cracked one eye open and watched her, intrigued. Her hands seemed so skillful working against his clumsy new mechanical digits. Yes, they'd probably be better than his real fingers were – Winry had done an amazing job – but he still wasn't quite used to using them for such delicate tasks.

She continued at this for some time. He could tell she knew he was watching her, but apparently didn't care, simply running her fingers along the smooth metal, manipulating him.

She finally looked up into his eyes and he offered her the trademark Roy Mustang smirk before pulling her tight against him, both arms firmly secured around her. "I've missed this," he said honestly.

"The feeling is mutual, sir," she said, relaxing against him.

They stayed there for some time, before Edward – who'd received his automail after Roy – ran in, already an expert at using his new leg. The logical part of Roy's mind tried to tell him that though a larger task, running didn't require quite the same amount of precision as finger-snapping did. However, the majority of his mind told him to scowl at his nephew as he pranced around the living room, picking a friendly fight with his brother.

Riza looked up at him and smiled in amusement, thinking once again how much of a child he could be sometimes.

* * *

_537 words.  
_


	29. Infectious Crying

Disclaimer: No own.

Author's Note: Another continuation of the continuation of the Young Elrics. Umm, happy EdWin, angsty Royai. Note, Ed and Winry are adults now, so I felt this more than appropriate.

* * *

**Theme 55 :: Infectious Crying**

Roy and Ed were in fine condition again, fully accustomed to their new limbs, and ready to get back to work – ready to find a way to change Al back. Al himself, through all his tireless research – had yet to find anything useful. The boys, along with Riza, were leaving in two days' time for Central, ready to return to their normal lives.

It was that quiet period after dinner, where they all sat around in the living room, Winry checking Roy's and Ed's automail for any slight alterations she might need to do before they left, Riza next to Roy with a good book, Pinako doing housework and Al alternately playing with Winry's dog and reading through some of his father's old alchemy books.

"W-winry?" Ed asked nervously, tugging on his collar for air.

"Yeah?" she looked up at him from where she was sitting on her knees, doing some minor adjustment on his knee.

"I've . . . I've been meaning to ask you for awhile."

Riza smirked, having seen this coming a mile away. In fact, she'd confronted Ed about his intentions before the accident, and he'd responded much the way he was acting now.

"Yeah . . .?" Winry tried to pull it out of him.

"Well, we've been friends for a long time, and now we're, you know, more than friends."

"Uh-huh . . ."

"Is he doing what I think he's doing?" Roy whispered to Riza, who quickly shushed him.

"What I'm trying to say is . . . ugh," he turned to Roy and whispered angrily, "how did you make it look so damn _easy_?"

Roy just shrugged and Winry's eyes widened. "Edward . . . are you . . . ?"

"Uh, yeah," he stammered, slipping off the couch and onto one knee, now actually on the same level as her. "Winry, will you . . . ?" he held up a simple engagement ring, much like the one his Aunt Riza still wore round her neck.

Before he had a chance to finish, Winry had toppled him over, wrench still in her hand, arms tightly around his neck. "Of course, you idiot!"

Nearby, Pinako stopped sweeping the floor and watched them, dabbing at her eyes a little, muttering an "about time."

Al looked up from his book and said in a high-pitched tone, "I really wish I could cry right now."

And if one looked closer to the two blondes lying in a heap on the floor, you could see the tears of joy running down their faces as they shared brief, happy kisses.

The sniffling started with Roy. "Sir?"

"I'm _not_ crying," he asserted.

A few seconds later, she joined in.

"Riza?"

"Not crying."

They watched for a few more moments before they had tears trailing down their cheeks, too, hands clasped tightly between them. Anyone else would have thought this the effect of infectious crying – the two war-hardened soldiers rarely cried, especially around others.

But what no-one would have known just looking at them, was that those were not tears of joy, but tears of silent sadness.

* * *

_523 words. _


	30. Until That Day

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: Another continuation of the continuation of the Young Elrics. I really like this one, though it's still pretty rough. It helped me up my word count and I wanted to get it in before midnight so I can be considered 'on track' wordcount wise. So here you go. Very implied EdWin, very Royai, very wistful and very sweet.

* * *

**Theme 100 :: Until That Day**

The wedding was nothing fancy, just traditional. All the men were gussied up in their tuxedos and the bride wore white, her bridesmaids in a light cream. But it was beautiful.

Winry had chosen Riza and Gracia Hughes to be her bridesmaids, dressing them in high-backed gowns at Riza's request. Ed had chosen his brother, of course, and his Uncle Roy to be his groomsmen. Pinako was to give away the bride.

It was shortly before the ceremony, and Riza requested a moment to get some fresh air, and stepped outside, wandering the halls aimlessly, trying to clear her head.

Apparently, the same thing seemed to be bothering her fiancé.

"Sir," she saluted, expecting someone to be nearby.

Roy chuckled – a woman in evening dress saluting had to be one of the most hilarious things he'd seen in his entire life.

"At ease, Lieutenant," he said, still smiling.

They continued their walk together, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm. "Does it bother you, too?" he finally asked.

"What, sir?"

"You know what." He placed his left hand over the one she had at his elbow. "That they're getting married before us."

She sighed quietly. "Yes, a little. It just doesn't seem fair."

They continued on in silence for awhile before she spoke again, "But they deserve it as much as we do. And there's no reason they shouldn't be happy."

"But it still bothers you."

"Yes," she admitted.

He tightened his hold on her hand. "It just seems so pointless – that rule. We've been engaged for years and it's never caused us any problems. At least not yet."

"But there are many other officers that would let their feelings interfere. The rule is for the masses, Colonel, we're just a sad, lonely exception."

He nodded and continued along. "We've been fine so far, though, haven't we? Just you and me (and the dog). We're our own little family."

"Except we'll never have children."

He frowned. "You want children?"

She averted her gaze. "Only if you do, sir. But I think my time has already passed now."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Children would have been nice."

She looked up at him, just a little surprised. "I suppose we had Edward and Alphonse for awhile."

"And now they're all grown up."

She smirked a little and elbowed him as much as she could in their position. "Empty nest syndrome already, hmm?"

"With Ed?" he scoffed. "Of course not." After a pointed look, he admitted, "All right, maybe a little."

She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder a little as they continued strolling along.

"You look beautiful today, Riza," he said quietly. "Not that you don't everyday, but you look especially beautiful right now."

"Thank you," was her barely audible response.

"I think you'd look lovely in white someday. And Winry would look lovely in that dress you're wearing now."

She looked up at him, that certain softness in her eyes that he found such a treat to see as it was so rare. "Maybe," she said, "just for today." And with that she pulled away from him, expertly undoing the clasp to her dog tags and slipping off her engagement ring. "Would you like to do the honors, sir?" she said, having put her necklace back on, holding the ring out to him.

He accepted it, and slid it onto her wedding finger, the first time it had been there since the day he proposed. He admired how nicely it looked there, before bringing her hand up to kiss her fingertips. "Riza, I wish more than anything that I could marry you today. Hell, I wish I could have married you years ago, but I want you to know that I'll be waiting until that day. I don't care how long it takes or what I have to do to make it happen, there will come a day when we can be together. I promise."

It was rare for him to make such eloquent proclamations of his love for her, and the gesture nearly brought tears to her eyes. She reached up and smoothed back those stray hairs that never seemed to behave when he slicked it back, and pressed her lips to his forehead, rising onto her toes a little. "Thank you, Roy."

They continued their walk in silence, her hand once more tucked in the crook of his arm, now shining a little with the addition of the ring. They reached where they began and went their separate directions, squeezing hands briefly in parting. Today wasn't about them, it was about Edward and Winry, but Roy had forgotten all about them when he saw Riza walking down the aisle, a bouquet in her hands and a stunning engagement ring on her finger.

* * *

_803 words.  
_


	31. Crime and Punishment

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: Okay, moving on from the Young Elrics, who may be revisited once more if I feel like it. Just a short one, angsty sweet.

* * *

**Theme 7 :: Crime and Punishment**

The court had gone easy on them.

The sentence for war crimes was undeniably death, but their work in avenging the victims of their crimes granted them imprisonment for life.

They each had their own cells, much to their disappointment, and were forced to talk to each other through a crack in the wall when the guards weren't watching. It wasn't that their conversations were anything that would get them in trouble; it just didn't feel right.

Sometimes they'd knock on the wall in code to communicate with each other, even if someone was nearby. They'd do this for hours, lying on their cots, tapping that special spot in wordless conversation, until their guard got annoyed at the sound and hollered at them to shut up.

One night, Riza found she couldn't even pretend to sleep anymore and cupped her hands to the crack in the wall, whispering, "Colonel?"

"I'm not a colonel anymore," he said, apparently unable to sleep as well.

"You always will be to me," she said softly.

"You can't sleep either, can you, Riza?"

"No," she admitted. "It's lonely. And the nightmares . . ."

"I know," he said. "Me, too."

"Do you think they planned this, or was it just some stroke of luck on their part? Because this is the worst punishment of all."

She leaned her head against the wall, and he did the same, as if trying to seek comfort from this semblance of closeness. That was when she heard it, the quiet whimpering that often followed his worst nightmares, the prelude to his tears. No, _this_ was the worst punishment of all – hearing him cry.

* * *

_280 words._


	32. Kiss

Disclaimer: Me no own.

Author's Note: Okay, so causmicfire (thank you for the reviews!) totally called this after I'd written but before I posted it. I came up with this basic idea (the plot and the characters involved) awhile ago, before "Crime and Punishment". This follows "Crime and Punishment" but the entirety of it springs from a conversation via comments with musicalchemist on the royai comm on lj. I rather like it; it might be my favorite so far and I have no idea why. Well, enjoy. :)

* * *

**Theme 91 :: Kiss**

It had been six months since they first took residence in these cells, and they had many years to go.

Their late-night conversations continued, somehow never running out of things to talk about – for sanity's sake. They'd managed to make the crack in the wall a little wider so as to slip notes back and forth, always in code in case they were found, not that the subject was of much importance anymore. They each kept one tucked in their breast pocket, closest to their hearts. They were the only confessions of love that existed between the two, and they were enough – in writing, kept forever on torn margins of newspapers.

In truth, they never expected to see anything outside their cells again. They had everything they needed there – a small connecting bathroom each, a bed, a desk, meals brought to them daily, visitors seen through the barred windows on the doors.

That was why they were so startled that night.

"Psst!" came a vaguely familiar voice.

Riza was the first to stir from her half-sleep and made her way to her cell door, peeking through the bars to see who was there. She could see a black shape bent down, fumbling with the lock.

"Hurry, Winry!" a second voice hissed from nearby, standing anxiously at Roy's door.

"Winry?!"

The young mechanic poked her head up to show she was dressed in all black, including the bandana she had wrapped around her head and the paint on her cheeks. She winked, gave Riza a thumbs up and finished with the lock, tossing the keys to her accomplice.

Winry quickly ushered Riza out, looked her over and gave her a hug.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?"

Winry shrugged. "What does it look like? Jailbreak!"

"And who . . ." she trailed off, seeing none other than Gracia Hughes dressed similarly to the young Rockbell, working at Roy's door.

The lock gave and Roy stepped out, approaching Riza immediately before stopping a half step away.

She stared at him.

He stared at her.

And after that moment's hesitation he quickly drew her into his arms for a brief, loving kiss.

"It's good to see you again, sir."

"Likewise."

And with that their two rescuers tugged them along and led them out to freedom._  
_

* * *

_389 words.  
_


	33. Covered Eyes

Disclaimer: No own.

Author's Note: Another short one. This is actually loosely based on something that happened after play rehearsal in high school with some of my friends who were dating. Very loosely. But I read the theme and decided I had to do this. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 14 :: Covered Eyes**

The problem with war was that people died.

The problem with war in a desert was that people died even when they weren't in battle.

Sandstorms, Roy had learned, could start in the blink of an eye.

They'd been out walking together, truly talking for the first time since they'd been reunited in this godforsaken place. They talked of her decisions following her father's death, his passing the alchemy exam, war and life.

"Why did you come here?" he finally asked.

"I didn't really have much of a choice," she admitted. "I'm good with guns, not much else. I'm sure I could have gotten another job, but this is the right place for me."

He stopped walking and looked at her, carefully taking both of her hands in his. "These hands weren't meant for killing."

"And neither were yours," she said seriously. "We both have blood on our hands, but this is the path we've chosen." She pulled her hands away and lowered her gaze, speaking quietly, "My hands would have been bloodied whether I came here or not. I share half your sins."

He was about to reply, to try to tell her that wasn't true, but he heard a familiar sound and looked around, seeing the signs of a storm brewing. "Quick. Run," was all he said as he dragged her by the wrist, hoping in vain they'd make it back to camp before the storm became unbearable.

After five agonizing minutes of blinking sand from their eyes, not knowing which way to run anymore, he pulled her to him, burying his face in her coat, shielding himself as he wrapped his arms around her, covering her eyes and mouth, protecting her.

Many men died in sandstorms during the Ishbal Rebellion. That's probably why Maes Hughes was pleasantly surprised to find them returning to camp some time after the terrible storm, alive and well.

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_321 words.  
_


	34. Embracing from the Back

Disclaimer: No own.

Author's Note: Another really short one. I don't know why, but it's helping me catch up in completion. To be quite honest, I have no idea where this came from, it just sort of happened. And I certainly hadn't planned on a dark ending like that. Oh, well.

* * *

**Theme 51 :: Embracing from the Back**

The weight of her in his arms, so warm and real, was something he felt he would like to grow accustomed to.

She fit so perfectly against him, seated between his legs, her head lolling backward onto his shoulder, his arms tightly around her waist. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head, pulling her closer.

He only wished this moment hadn't been ruined by the iron-ridden scent of blood.

He held the remainders of his cloak against her abdomen, trying to control the bleeding. He released one hand to touch her head, whispering soothing nonsense to her, his lips moving lightly against her ear.

The car moved along as fast as it could in the conditions, and he only hoped they'd arrive soon enough.

Her consciousness was flickering, there one moment, gone the next, but when she did gain some notion of coherence, she seemed pleased with their current arrangement, and struggled to move closer to him, seeking protection in his arms. She spoke a few times, childlike and confused.

"Riza . . ." he murmured. "It's going to be okay, Riza. You're going to be okay."

She nodded a little, holding her blood-covered hands up in front of her, seemingly intrigued by the image. "I have blood on my hands," she told him._  
_

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_224 words.  
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	35. Home Cooking

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, don't own, blah, blah . . .

Author's Note: Very short, just pushing me over my required wordcount for the day.

* * *

**Theme 31 :: Home Cooking**

Both Roy and Riza were fairly talented cooks – he an expert (or so he said) in foreign cuisine, while she was very apt at preparing home style food that was particularly appetizing after the horrible rations in Ishbal and the unrecognizable food one could obtain in the mess hall.

Sometimes he would cook for her, usually very exquisite and with that certain flare. These were the nights they'd dine by candlelight.

Other times she would cook for him – the staples of Amestrian food, stew and meat with potatoes, the sorts of things a doting mother would prepare for her University student come home for the weekend.

Yes, they were both very talented in and around the kitchen.

Unfortunately, sometimes two rights can make a wrong.

When they tried to cook together, it never failed to end in disaster. They'd bicker about which spices would do better in what sauce, and often throw in both – this never wound up tasting good at all.

These were the nights they'd wind up on the Hughes' doorstep, hoping for some _good_ home cooking._  
_

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_184 words.  
_


	36. Unknown PastBefore We Knew Each Other

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: I know it's short, but it came out (purely by accident) as a true drabble. That was lucky.

* * *

**Theme 9 :: Unknown Past/Before We Knew Each Other**

Lying in bed, Roy lightly ran his fingertips over her naked skin, trailing down her arms, memorizing every curve, every freckle.

He stopped, fingers circling around an old burn scar on the inside of her elbow. "Ishbal?" he asked, smoothing the skin with his thumb.

"No," she said, opening her eyes to see the mark. "When I was young I got carried away with some of Father's research materials."

He frowned. "I don't remember that."

She sighed, slipping an arm around him. "You wouldn't. It was before we knew each other."_  
_

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_100 words.  
_


	37. Reaching Voice &Unreachable with a Voice

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

Author's Note: Meh, another really short one. I'm kind of losing my rhythm. Might sit down and watch the movie tonight just to get into a FMA mindset (even if the Royai is severely lacking). Not too good, but enjoy nonetheless.

* * *

**Theme 16 :: Reaching Voice & Unreachable with a Voice**

It was the night after they buried Maes Hughes. Riza was sitting up in bed, wearing Roy's discarded shirt, watching him.

She wished she could call what they did 'making love' but for some reason that didn't feel right. She loved him, and she felt perhaps he loved her, but there was no love in their actions, only need and rough desire. She didn't mind, though. He needed it. She needed it. That made it special, even if it wasn't lovemaking.

But now, she wished she could be anywhere but there, listening to his sleepy mumblings of how it was all his fault. "I'm sorry," he'd whimper.

There was nothing she could do. She tried to talk to him. Hell, she'd tried slapping him, yelling his name, but it only seemed to make things worse.

"Sir?" she said softly, stroking the backs of her fingers over his arm. "Roy? Are you listening to me?"

But he did not respond, only further burying his face into his pillow, muttering the same self-loathing things over and over again.

She couldn't reach him, no matter what she said. And so, she curled up behind him, cradling him close to her, hoping that maybe this would accomplish what her words could not.

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_218 words.  
_


	38. Proof

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

**Theme 12 :: Proof**

They'd made a mistake.

They hadn't been careful enough.

No, it wasn't some life-threatening error that they would regret forever, but it was still a mistake.

She'd gotten pregnant.

It was easy to hide at first, and then they'd finally announced to their team exactly what was between them. Of course, none of the men would dare do anything that could possibly get either their beloved colonel or first lieutenant court-martialed, and the military was not concerned with who the father of her child was, only that she should not be sent into battle.

That had been all fine and well for awhile – after all, they were paper-pushers – but then the rebellion started.

It was much like Ishbal, only this time in the north. At first, they were lucky, and no-one from their team was called to battle.

Then went Falman.

Then Breda.

Then Fuery.

It was only a matter of time before Mustang, too, was called into action.

When the day finally came, she saw him off at the train station, giving him a firm salute before subtly laying a hand on his cheek as his own rested on her now slightly rounded belly.

That was the last time she ever saw him – waving from a train window, a promise to return still on his lips.

They wrote as often as possible over the next couple months, and he insisted she stay with Havoc until he returned. Though the man was now bound to a wheelchair, in case anything happened, it was better than being alone.

She learned which days to expect his letters, and when the time came, and no letter arrived, she began to worry.

It was two weeks later they received news that Colonel Roy Mustang was missing in action.

Havoc worried for her, but she said she was fine, insistent in her belief that her beloved colonel was alive somewhere. "There's no proof," she'd say.

It was almost her eighth month of pregnancy when they received a small package; encased were Mustang's dog tags as well as a letter saying he was assumed to be dead. The news caused her such grief and shock, she went into premature labor soon after.

Months later, holding her healthy baby boy – named Maes Hawkeye-Mustang – she listened as they finally gave a memorial service for the man who had aspired to change so many lives.

Afterwards, Havoc rolled towards her as she stood at the marker. "Riza . . ." he said.

"It's not a grave," she told him. "There's no body."

"I know."

The baby whimpered and Riza bounced him soothingly, rubbing his little back.

"Riza, you're going to have to let go someday."

She glanced down to where Maes was playing with his parents' dog tags, both sets now dangling from her neck. "Not yet," she said quietly.

"He's gone," Havoc whispered. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth. Denying it like this isn't healthy."

She turned to look at him, tears glistering in her eyes, her lower lip sucked between her teeth in an attempt to hold it all in. "No," she hissed. "He's not dead." She looked down to her son. "There's no proof."

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_532 words.  
_


	39. Scars

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: I really don't like the way this one turned out. It'll be another first priority rewrite in December. Enjoy for now.

* * *

**Theme 17 :: Scars**

Through the years, Mustang and Hawkeye had each gained their fair share of scars. They had both taken bullets during the war – those were the more subtle injuries that had marked them for life; it was the burns that never faded.

Whenever she caught sight of his abdomen, covered almost entirely in gnarled red scars, she thought back to that day. She could remember treating those burns after he'd been discharged from the hospital, applying salve as he writhed in pain on the bed.

Now, when they were alone, she'd plant delicate kisses over the damaged area, as if in a futile effort to undo the harm that had already been done. It was a favorite place of hers, to lay her cheek on, to remind her of how fragile their lives really were; to remind her how she very nearly lost him that day.

And just as his burns intrigued her, the marks on her own back caught his attention the most. He could remember the pain he'd felt hearing her screams as his own fire touched her back. He could remember carrying her, half naked, when she couldn't even walk.

The sight of those burns made him shudder and wish he could only look away.

The worst scars of all, though, were the ones no-one could see – the ones that resulted in sleepless nights, whimpering into each other's shoulders._  
_

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_235 words.  
_


	40. A Walk

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.

* * *

**Theme 33 :: A Walk**

It had been years since they'd been here.

The townsfolk never quite changed, though – always gossiping, never really seeing beyond their narrow vision here in this small town. They probably didn't even remember the alchemist that once lived here, or his daughter, or his student.

They were dressed in their civvies, so there really was no way to identify them. He was dashing as ever, and she had a certain casual beauty to her; it was that her hair was down, he thought. No-one in this little backward town would ever know they were commanding officer and subordinate, and that was what made it so peaceful.

They walked side by side down old cobblestone streets, stopping to get some roasted nuts at a seller with a cart, before proceeding to purchase some flowers – white lilies – and continuing on their way.

He held the flowers, and picked nuts out of the paper cone she held, chewing on them contemplatively. "It's different but so very the same," he commented, gazing at the familiar buildings dressed in unfamiliar colors; familiar people with unfamiliar wrinkles.

"Mhm," she said thoughtfully, leading the way round a corner, her fingertips lightly grasping his sleeve. "I think it's because we've been in the city far too long, sir."

He cocked his head to look at her briefly, resisting the temptation to throw her his trademark 'Roy Mustang' grin. "I thought you liked city life?"

She shrugged, offering him the last of their snack before throwing the remains in a nearby trash can. "I do, but it grows tiresome after awhile. It's so relaxing here."

"The grass is always greener," he quoted, raising the hand with the flowers in a philosophical gesture.

She only nodded, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. "I'm glad we came."

"Me, too," he smiled faintly.

Their walk continued in companionable silence for some time, old women remarking to them that they were such a lovely young couple, and that they offered them the best wishes for the future. They merely smiled and thanked them, wishing them a good day.

Some time through their venture, she'd shifted to take his hand in hers, occupying herself with weaving and unweaving their fingers together.

She led the way to the cemetery, winding through the narrow paths as if she'd only been here yesterday. It wasn't very well kept, the grass fading to a sickening yellow in some places, other areas overgrown with weeds. Regardless, she seemed to know her way, and they were soon standing in front of a familiar grave.

Roy handed Riza the flowers and she knelt down, using one hand to clear the grave of dried grass and weeds, before setting the offering before it. Roy stood behind her, fingertips pushing her hair over one shoulder so he could settle his hand on her neck, a comforting and reassuring pressure she'd grown accustomed to over the years. "Hello, Father," she said quietly. "It's been awhile."

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_499 words.  
_


	41. Cureless

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own it.

* * *

**Theme 26 :: Cureless**

When the vomiting persisted for more than a week, it was finally decided Riza needed to see a doctor.

Now, she had all the symptoms and, though a little uncertain at first, was cheerful for this appointment, already convinced of the diagnosis.

With only a little gun-waving involved, she managed to get Roy to accompany her to the doctor's office. He found it more than a little awkward in some respects, or at the very least redundant – he, too, was positive the official diagnosis was merely a formality. But after awhile he decided it was only right for him to be there when the news was made official.

A nurse called her back to an examining room, and she tugged him along by the sleeve as they took the required stats – weight, height, blood pressure and the like – and finally allowed her to sit down, ready for the important matters.

The nurse smiled, "So I see we're drawing blood for a pregnancy test."

Riza smiled and answered, "Yes," while Roy just grinned, sitting nearby.

"Congratulations," the nurse said, readying Riza for the blood test. "Now, this is just going to be a little poke . . . relax . . ." and she left, a vial of Riza's blood off to the lab for analysis.

Roy, yawned, stretching, and relaxed in the chair. "I'm assuming this will take awhile."

"Mhm," she prodded at the cotton ball taped to her arm before pulling down her sleeve again and moving to sit next to him. "Thank you for coming, sir."

He nodded slightly, apparently a little lost in thought. "Are you nervous?" he finally asked.

"A bit. Are you?"

"Yeah, but it's an excited kind of nervous."

She smiled softly and covered his hand with her own.

They waited like this for some time, before they heard the door opened and looked in that direction excitedly, brimming with happiness until they saw the doctor's furrowed brow.

"Miss Hawkeye?" he asked, looking at her as he pulled up a chair.

"Yes, that's me," she frowned

He looked at Roy, "And you are . . . ?"

"This is Colonel Mustang," Riza answered for him. "He's the . . . ah . . ."

The doctor held up a hand to show he understood. "Mr. Mustang, if you would step outside for a moment, I need to talk to Miss Hawkeye."

Roy frowned and stood, but Riza pulled him to sit back down. "Anything you say to me can be said in front of Colonel Mustang," she told the doctor seriously.

"But policy . . ."

She glared at him and he got the point.

The doctor cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I have bad news, Miss Hawkeye. You are not pregnant."

Riza instantly latched onto Roy's hand, swallowing thickly, her thoughts dizzying.

"But the blood test did show some interesting results."

Riza's mouth hung open, almost afraid to ask what was so serious the doctor hadn't wanted to tell her in front of Roy.

"Interesting?" Roy choked out, gripping Riza's hand a little more tightly.

The doctor sighed, flipping through his clipboard. "We'll have to run some more tests, but it seems, Miss Hawkeye, that you are suffering from a very rare disease."

Exactly what he said after that was lost in a blur. Something that affected her immune system and caused great discomfort, nausea and infertility.

Roy was too overwhelmed to say anything when Riza finally spoke, "What are the treatment options?"

The doctor looked at her sadly, "There are none. It's cureless."

"Terminal?" she asked, jaw set, refusing to show her emotions.

The old man nodded, adjusting his glasses. "As a rough estimate, I'd give you six months to a year."

Riza took this opportunity to look over at her colonel, and was heartbroken to find a single tear trailing down his cheek.

"Cureless," he whispered._  
_

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_649 words.  
_


	42. A Reason to Quarrel

Disclaimer: No own.

Author's Note: Short, vaguely amusing. Meh.

* * *

**Theme 62 :: A Reason to Quarrel**

"No," she asserted. "This has to be my side."

"Is this really worth fighting over?" he commented absently. "You should just let me have the side by the door."

"Colonel, it's my job to protect you."

"_Lieutenant_, I believe you're off duty any time this situation may arise."

"I still don't understand why you would need the side closest to the door," she said, folding her arms, glancing meaningfully at the bed.

"It's closer to the bathroom," he shrugged.

"And this matters why?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"Because," he nodded firmly.

"Well, fine, sir, but I'm going to need a better reason than that."

"You know, someone could very easily attack from the window," he pointed out hopefully.

She glared at him.

"And maybe it's just me, but isn't it the man who's supposed to sleep by the door to protect the woman?"

He realized just what a stupid comment that was as he was wrestling with the blankets on the couch that night, grumbling about how daft a reason that was to quarrel.

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_179 words.  
_


	43. Parting

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

* * *

**Theme 73 :: Parting**

He had spent almost three weeks there, in the house in which he used to live, and now he was leaving.

The majority of the time was spent, ironically, staring at her naked skin. This thought made her wonder exactly what her father's intentions had been in putting the tattoo in such an unexpectedly sensual place.

Not that it really mattered anymore. The array had been studied, memorized, their brief intimacy ending with his research.

They stood at the door now, awkwardly, unsure of how to go about this goodbye.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

"Yes, I'll get by somehow. Thank you, Mr. Mustang, you've really done too much for me these past weeks."

"It was my pleasure," he said seriously, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She looked at it.

He looked at it.

Quickly retracting the offending limb, he smiled nervously. "It was the least I could do," he said then added hastily, "for my sensei."

"Yes," she nodded, "for Father."

"You'll call me if you need anything? Anything at all?"

"Of course, but I think I'll be fine." She lowered her eyes, clasping her hands in front of herself.

"All right," he said, picking up his suitcase.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, staring at anything and everything but each other.

"I guess this is goodbye," he pointed out lamely.

"Yes."

"For now, at least."

"For now," she agreed.

Before she could say anything else, he put his free arm around her and pulled her tightly against himself. "Goodbye, Riza," he whispered, planting a light kiss on the top of her head, lingering there to smell her shampoo.

"Goodbye, Mr. Mustang," she murmured, burying her nose in his chest, nuzzling. "Please, don't die."

They stayed like this in silence for a few moments, before he released her and left, not once looking back. She stood at the door, leaning her head against the frame, watching his back as he left.

"Don't die."

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_235 words.  
_


	44. Feigning Sleep

Disclaimer: You should know I don't own anything by now.

* * *

**Theme 57 :: Feigning Sleep**

The flu had been going around Headquarters and, ever their caretaker, Hawkeye supplied her team with vitamins to keep their immune systems up. They all took them obediently – all, that is, except for one Roy Mustang who insisted his natural immune system was good enough and he didn't need any silly pills to help him. Hawkeye merely shrugged at this and walked away. So be it, if he gets sick.

Though, she hadn't really expected him to get sick when the paperwork was at its heaviest.

To put it simply, Mustang was miserable. Having the flu was bad enough, but having the flu and a mountain of paperwork was simply unbearable.

For once, Hawkeye seemed to have some sympathy for her poor commanding officer, and fetched him a blanket and two pillows (he always liked an extra, she remembered) so he could take a nap on the couch during his lunch break.

And so here he was, head nestled into one pillow, arms encircling the other, encompassed by a large quilt (which, he later found out, was the result a hobby of a certain bibliophile). He may have been sick, but he was quite content as he was – sleeping when the sun was even considering being up was a luxury he hadn't had since he lived with Hawkeye and her father all those years ago. He wasn't exactly sleeping, though, just lying there mindlessly, dreading the paperwork to come.

It was two minutes before lunch break was over and Hawkeye came in to wake her colonel so he could get back to work.

Mustang quickly closed his eyes and did his best to maintain the visage of one asleep, complete with a little trickle of drool running from the corner of his mouth.

She smiled a little at him, softly, before sitting on the edge of the couch, her fingers lightly caressing his hair. She used the corner of the pillowcase to wipe away the drool before laying one hand across his cheek, feeling the stubble he'd apparently been too miserable to shave this morning.

"Sir?" she whispered, easing him into consciousness.

He made a discontented noise, that, if he said so himself, made him sound asleep, and possibly too adorable to wake.

"Colonel?" she insisted, a little louder.

He pressed his luck, continuing the act. He felt her pull the quilt higher over his shoulders, tucking him in snugly out of habit.

She bent down, her fingers warm against his shoulder, and whispered in his ear, "Roy?"

It was sensuous, to say the least. Even in their most intimate of moments, it was rare for her to speak his given name, and the sound of it on her lips never ceased to have an incredible effect on him. And now, those same lips were so close to his own skin, he shivered.

"Come on, sir," she said standing. "I know you're faking."

He groaned and rolled off the couch, muttering about stupid paperwork._  
_

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_499 words.  
_


	45. Conversation

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: This one turned out . . . interesting. But I am really sleepy some reason today which I think might be part of it. Meh.

* * *

**Theme 30 :: Conversation**

They had no need for words.

They would often come home from the office tired and burned out, seeking relaxation in each other's presence, a quiet comfort in just being alive.

He would sit down in the living room, leaning his head back against the chair, while she would gather something for them to drink – if that day had been particularly stressful, her choice might contain its fair share of alcohol.

She would come back in, sliding his glass into his hand, finding her own spot beside him – or, again, if times were particularly stressful, she'd slip onto his lap where she could lean back into his warm chest and enjoy the quiet closeness.

They would sit there for some time, sipping at their drinks, free hands finding one another, fingertips playing. His hand would travel lightly up and down her thigh, not sensually, just there – soft and warm and real. Her fingers would find their way into his hair, absently combing through, caressing.

She'd wordlessly take their emptied glasses into the kitchen to be washed before returning to her previous position, tiredly leaning her head against his, eyelids drooping as she took the liberty of undoing another button on his shirt, fingers slipping inside, seeking his heat.

When they finally grew tired enough, she'd rise, pulling him by the fingers to follow her into the bedroom. There she'd methodically begin to take off her uniform, folding as she went. He'd watch her, not in a particularly sexual way, but rather marveling at her outstanding beauty; her elegance. Sometimes, he'd come up behind her and slip his arms around her bare waist, kissing her shoulder, grazing the old burns with his nose.

These were the nights they decided sleep could wait.

You see, the most intimate conversations Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye ever had did not involve words at all.

* * *

_314 words._


	46. Grave

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA. Don't own some of the dialogue.

Author's Note: My take on a scene from chapter 61. Not particularly creative, but I felt it could use a little extension on both ends, a little introspection, etc. So here you go.

* * *

**Theme 4 :: Grave**

Mustang watched her silently, a safe distance away. At first he'd been in a hurry to get her attention so they could leave this horrible place, but now he was too intrigued to tear her from her task.

She was digging with her bare hands, dirt and clay collecting under and around her fingernails, stopping every now and then to wipe at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Once she was satisfied with the hole, she turned to the bloodied body beside her, smoothing the little boy's hair back with one trembling, soiled hand, before she settled the child in his eternal resting place.

She appeared thoughtful for a moment before methodically filling the hole again.

She patted the earth down with her palms, admiring her work, and then placed a makeshift marker into the ground.

He took this as his cue and approached her. "Aren't you going back? You'll be left behind."

When Riza didn't respond, didn't even turn around, he sighed and asked, pretending he hadn't been watching this entire time, "Is it a comrade?"

"No," she whispered, then turned to look at him, "an Ishbalan child . . ." she trailed off, swallowing thickly, "he was shot and left on the roadside alone."

Roy stayed thoughtful for a moment, considering the implications of her words – an Ishbalan child, like the child that started this whole damn rebellion; it was fitting. "Let's go back." He looked away, pained. "The war is over."

She turned back to the grave, making a few adjustments. "The battle of Ishbal isn't over inside me yet. No," she said, closing her eyes, "it will probably never end."

He took a step closer to her, intent on laying a hand on her shoulder, but she spoke first, startling him, eyes still fixed on the child's marker. "I was the one who believed in you and entrusted my father's research to you. I was also the one who chose to go into the military academy wishing for the happiness of the people. Even if that had undesired results, I cannot run from the facts." She scooped up some soil in her hand, letting it sift through her fingers before clenching her fist. "To deny, atone or beg for forgiveness is the arrogance of those who did the killing." He lowered his eyes guiltily.

She clenched the fabric of her uniform, biting her lip a little to keep her emotions at bay. "I have a favor to ask you, Mr. Mustang. Please . . ." she sniffed a little, clearing her thoughts, "burn and crush my back."

He stuttered, eyes wide, "What are you . . . there's no way I can . . . at least . . . !"

She cut him off, bitter, sad, angry tears coursing down her face, "If I can't atone, then at least so that it can't give birth to a new Flame Alchemist. So that the secrets on this back can't be used."

She wiped at her face, leaving an extra dirty smudge on her left cheek, and looked up at him, serious as ever. "And so I can lay down the bonds to my father and alchemy, to become Riza Hawkeye as an individual. Please." Those eyes, piercing and fierce. He could never say no to those eyes.

He took his gloves out of his pocket and considered them, frowning. "How much would I have to burn to kill . . . or if it would hinder your lifestyle. The depth and range of burns has become within my power." He looked up at her, smiling sadly. "How ironic. I've gotten too used to burning people in this battle."

They stayed at the child's grave for some time, before he finally bent down and placed his fingers on her shoulder, lightly, just barely touching. "Come on," he whispered, "Let's go."

He helped her up, and with one final glance to the makeshift tomb, they walked away, side by side, neither daring to break the silence. He looked unbelievably sad, the few times she ventured a glance in his direction, and she wondered if he felt he'd failed or betrayed her. Her mouth jumped ahead of her mind and spoke tentatively, "Roy?"

"Hmm?" he looked over at her.

"I was the one who shot the child."

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_724 words.  
_


	47. In the Dead of the Night

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Spoilers for vaguely recent chapters (not that Roy or Riza have actually done anything lately grr). Like, who Pride is, though it's not specifically mentioned. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 47 :: In the Dead of the Night**

It had been some time since Pride had revealed himself to Riza, and through a series of coded conversations with her colonel, had informed him at least vaguely of the situation – Pride's identity and that he was watching her, meaning their time spent together would have to stop for some indeterminate length of time. Maybe now she'd actually get a chance to unpack all those boxes in her apartment.

They'd held off after her transfer, but they still had their time together. Now, their most romantic moments were the slight bumping of knees and feet under a table in the mess hall.

That was why he was so shocked to find her standing there, on his doorstep, drenched, Black Hayate – equally waterlogged – trailing on his leash.

"Lieutenant?"

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, Colonel," she saluted.

"Come on in, Riza," he said softly and, after a moment's hesitation, she did. He took the leash from her and managed to ruffle the puppy dry. Riza hung up her coat and let her hair down, wringing it dry.

They stood there staring at each other, a loaded silence between them, before she threw herself forward, her arms around his neck, nose seeking its favorite place to nuzzle against him.

He put his arms lightly around her, leaning his cheek on her head. "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared," she whispered, trembling. "I'm scared to be alone."

First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was afraid. She'd killed more people than she could count, she'd saved him from assassination countless times, she'd survived a war, and yet she was here, near tears, telling him she was afraid of literally nothing.

But it wasn't nothing, he realized.

"Come on," he soothed, "Let's get you dried off."

Fifteen minutes later, she was comfortable on the couch, petting her now thoroughly dry puppy. She was wearing one of his shirts, though he had offered something of hers – more than half of her clothes were now tucked in the back of his closet – she was insistent on wearing something soothing, something that smelled like him.

Roy came in from the kitchen, two mugs in hand. "I know you said tea was fine, but this seemed like a hot chocolate kind of night, don't you think?" He handed her one of the mugs and sat down beside her. "I gave you extra whipped cream and marshmallows, by the way."

She smiled just a little and brought the beverage to her lips. "Thank you, sir."

They sat in silence for some time, the hot chocolate soon gone, Black Hayate curled up in his master's lap, fast asleep as she ran her fingers over his fur.

"You should go to sleep," Roy said, coming back from washing their mugs.

She shook her head. "I can't sleep."

He frowned. "It'll be good for you."

"I haven't slept in three days," she admitted, stroking the puppy's ear.

"Why not?"

She looked at him and he understood, covering, "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

She paused, then spoke, "I'll try to sleep," she said. "If you'll stay with me."

"Of course," he said, gently moving the sleeping pup from her lap to the couch, and helping her into the bedroom. She cuddled into his pillow as he pulled the covers over her, ensuring her warmth. "Good-night," he told her, fingering a strand of her hair. "I'll be here if you need me."

He turned off the lamp and she sat straight up in bed, reaching for him, "No!"

He immediately flipped the light back on, moving to the edge of the bed, gathering her in his arms. "Sh, I'm here," he soothed.

"Don't turn out the light," she said firmly. "Please."

He frowned but acquiesced, settling her back into his bed.

She fell asleep surprisingly fast, her face finally relaxed for the first time in ages. He spent some time watching her, stroking her hair, before eventually deciding she was content enough for him to get a little rest, too.

He slid under the covers next to her, managing not to disturb her in the process, and turned out the light.

As he sank into the mattress, accepting Riza's weight as she reflexively moved against him, he couldn't help but feel a thickness gathering in the shadows around him; long tendrils wrapping round his neck, suffocating, until he drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

_738 words._


	48. Syllogism

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: Came up with this in thermo class this morning. You'll see. ;)

* * *

**Theme 86 :: Syllogism**

Thirteen year old Roy Mustang sighed, glaring at his chemistry book. Hawkeye Sensei had given him his assignment hours ago, and usually it took him maybe twenty minutes to finish, but this concept truly had him stumped.

"Having issues?" Riza asked, coming into the room with a duster.

He muttered something under his breath and buried his face further into his book, sinking down into the couch.

She came up behind him and read over his shoulder. "Hmm."

He frowned at her, "Stop teasing. You don't understand this stuff; you're ten."

She snorted a little and resumed her tidying.

He sat there staring for a bit while she bustled around the room. "Uh . . . Riza?"

"Yes?" she turned to face him.

"Do you . . . uh . . . do you really get this chemistry stuff?"

She grinned a little and settled on the couch next to him. "All right, then. Hess' Law."

"Hey, wait, just a sec, how do you know this stuff?" he asked, shocked that a ten year old could possibly be so proficient in chemistry.

She gave him a serious look, "My father is an alchemist. My father. My only parent. I'd hope I'm good at chemistry."

He took this for a reasonable answer and let her tutor him.

"So you see, it's really not that hard," she concluded. "Just basic algebra."

"That is so not algebra," he said, pointing at the book in her arms.

She sighed, a little exasperated at his inability to grasp this basic property. "Then, think of it like a syllogism. If the enthalpy of formation of A is some number, and the enthalpy of formation of B is another number, and A and B make C, then the enthalpy of reaction is . . ."

"The two added together," he said slowly, finally understanding.

"See? I told you it wasn't that hard," she smiled.

He offered her a half-smirk, before scowling. "Outsmarted by a ten-year-old. Outsmarted by a ten year old _girl_."

She laughed a little and slid off the couch, resuming her chores.

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_352 words.  
_


	49. Existence

Disclaimer: Me no own.

* * *

**Theme 29 :: Existence**

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting fleeting shadows across Roy's face, peacefully asleep beside her. His nose twitched a little as she methodically moved his bangs to his temples, and he grunted a little in mild annoyance. Today, she thought, was a good day to have off.

The winter air was stiff and cold and she shrugged the blankets further over her shoulders, doing her best to protect her naked form from the chill, pressing her cheek into his bicep to absorb a little of his heat.

He groaned again and, sensing another nightmare coming on, she put an arm around him, murmuring quiet encouragements to wake up. He eventually complied, pulling her into a tight embrace and kissing her hair.

"Good morning," she whispered, stretching out to feel his full length against her.

"'Morning," he mumbled, fingertips tracing the inked lines on her back, long since memorized.

They lay together for some time, content to bask in their combined body heat.

"Thank you," he finally said, arms tightening around her.

She only nodded, her chin moving against him.

"I'm sorry it happened like that," he said softly. "I just . . . I needed to . . ."

"Validate your existence?" she supplied.

"Yes," he said. "That sounds about right."

She cuddled against him, lying atop him. "I understand," she whispered.

It didn't matter that last night he had finally broken down in grief from Hughes' death. It didn't matter that he'd walked into her apartment, red-eyed and disheveled, and taken her in his arms. It didn't matter that there were no words of love as she cradled him between her thighs. It didn't matter that he'd still cried himself to sleep, muttering Maes' name under his breath instead of hers.

All that mattered, she thought, was that it had been her he had come to.

* * *

313 words.  



	50. From Yesterday

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

* * *

**Theme 94 :: From Yesterday**

Riza settled into his arms with a light sigh, tired from their long day's work. He slipped his fingers under the hem of her shirt, thumbs rubbing soft circles against her skin. It was only a matter of time before he trailed kisses up and down her temple, lingering over her ear before moving down her neck.

"Mm, sir?" she whined, squirming a little uncomfortably but nonetheless tilting her head for better access.

He nuzzled her a little and pulled her closer. "What?"

"Aren't you tired?" she breathed, close to giving in.

He shrugged and rearranged to kiss her lips. "Not that tired." She groaned a little as he moved down again, trailing down her throat, unbuttoning her blouse to reach her collarbone.

Suddenly he stopped, fingering a spot near her shoulder. "What's this?"

She opened her eyes and looked at the round bruise and smirked. "Don't you remember? That's from yesterday."_  
_

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_157 words.  
_


	51. Crowd

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or Gilmore Girls.

Author's Note: Another Gilmore Girls crossover. Inspired by going to my own small-town festival. Kind of angsty right now, so I'm writing . . . fluff? Oh well, enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 83 :: Crowd**

It was a small town festival she'd brought him to. This, she'd said, was the place she and Gracia met for their regular lunches, a small town outside of Central called Stars Hollow. He'd been here before, he thought, though he'd just been passing through on business. He never quite took the chance to appreciate the odd charm of this close knit community.

This was the Firelight Festival, in celebration of Founder's Day – a holiday to commemorate the founding of their little home, something of two star crossed lovers and a bonfire. It was a pretty story, he recalled, even if he couldn't remember the details.

He liked this Firelight Festival.

It wasn't the corny decorations or the absurdly spiked punch, but the hand in his and the head nestled so comfortably against his shoulder. Her soft curves pressing into his side and her body heat made him tingly with anticipation; sleepy with contentment.

Yes, Roy Mustang had a new favorite holiday.

They gazed silently into the fire, listening as the local dance instructor ushered her little girls into the gazebo to perform, as children raced, weaving through the loving couples, as some man – Taylor Doose if he remembered right – rambled on and on through a megaphone about the proud history of their town.

He saw Riza's friend nearby – Lorelai – talking to the man who apparently made the best peppermint tea (and coffee, according to Lorelai) in the world. He saw a little of himself in that man, and a little of Riza in the woman. Two people so totally in love they refused to admit it.

Gracia was here as well, guiding little Elysia along by the hand. He felt truly sorry for the woman – surrounded by all these young, happy couples, so in love and without a care in the world. And she'd had the most loving husband of all, and he'd been ripped away from her. She presently turned to them, smiling fondly and waved, Elysia doing the same, starting to pull her mother over. Gracia spoke quietly to the girl, telling her to give her Aunty Riza and Uncle Roy some time alone, and they continued along through the mingling crowd.

Riza shifted to stand in front of Roy, leaning back into his chest as she guided his arms around her waist. He swayed a little in response, rocking her from side to side as he cradled her against him.

"This was a good idea," he said softly, inhaling the scent of her hair.

"I told you," she replied, still gazing thoughtfully into the fire.

"I think this is the first time we've been able to go out like this. Together. In public."

She nodded. "That's why I suggested it. No-one knows who we are here; not really. And with this crowd, we'll never be noticed."

He leaned his cheek against her hair, which was let down and floating around her in the light breeze, glinting golden in the firelight. "I could get used to this."

"All in due time, sir," she said. "All in due time."

* * *

_515 words.  
_


	52. Military Personnel

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Not too happy with this, but I'm behind by a day so I need to pump these out pretty fast for awhile.

* * *

**Theme 1 :: Military Personnel**

Military personnel.

Dogs of the military.

Soldiers.

All three described both Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye. She was his lieutenant, and he her colonel. The military was not just their passion, not just their career, but their life.

Yes, singular. For Mustang and Hawkeye were partners, despite their commanding officer-subordinate relationship. They lived together, they worked together and they would inevitably die together. His passion was hers, as was his career and his life.

This sort of dedication, though special, wasn't entirely unheard of. Many passionate officers had teams that would follow them into Hell, that dedicated their lives to their success.

Military personnel were often dedicated, passionate people, devoting their entire beings to their commanding officers.

However, only one subordinate cradled her commanding officer's head in her lap, kissing his forehead through illness and nightmare. Only one subordinate shared not only paperwork and missions, but her commanding officer's bed and home. Only one subordinate would jump in front of a bullet out of more than pure duty. Only one subordinate could add love to the list of respects she paid her commanding officer. Only one subordinate could say her commanding officer would do the same things for her. Only one, and that subordinate was one Riza Hawkeye.

* * *

213 words. 


	53. The Scenery from a Car Seat

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

* * *

**Theme 64 :: The Scenery from a Car Seat**

It was one of the perks of having her as his aide. She was always the one driving. Always. Some would complain that these long car rides would get boring, particularly if you had no need to concentrate on the road.

But he loved them.

He truly did appreciate the scenic countryside that often took up most of their trips. It was peaceful, relaxing. Soft smells of grass and fruit would gently lull him into a half daze where he could day dream.

Often of the woman right next to him.

He liked to imagine how it would feel to have her weight in his arms, to run his fingers through her hair . . . to neck like a couple of horny teenagers in the backseat.

He'd grin and look over at her then, gazing at her with lidded eyes. She always kept both hands on the wheel, well, at least when he didn't look asleep. Then, her left hand would often settle on her thigh, lifting for sharp curves and turns. She always sat with perfect dignity, back straight, staring straight ahead.

She looked so beautiful like that.

Her profile, normally so stern and set, now gentle, backlit by the setting sun, light encompassing her golden hair, gracing her with a subtle halo.

"Colonel?" she said, breaking him from his reverie.

"Hmm?" he said, straightening.

"You were, ah, staring at me, sir."

He frowned. "No, I wasn't. I was asleep."

"Your eyes were open, sir, and your breathing wasn't entirely even. You were staring at me."

"And does this present a problem?" he smirked.

"Well, no, sir, I guess not. I just don't know if it's entirely appropriate behavior."

"Looking at you?" he asked, holding back a sarcastic chuckle.

"You weren't looking," she scolded. "I'd almost dare to say you were . . . ogling, sir."

He laughed. "Ogling? Did you honestly just say ogling?"

She glared over at him, "Yes, and I am not repeating it for your amusement, _sir_."

He grinned. "I wasn't _ogling_," he asserted.

"Oh? Then, pray tell, what were you doing?"

"I was . . . admiring the scenery." He could have sworn he saw a hint of blush cross her cheeks, perhaps a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but her face returned to its usual collectedness before he had a chance to tell.

She raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to the road, her left hand raising from her thigh to grasp the steering wheel a little more tightly.

Yes, Roy Mustang loved the countryside. It was beautiful and filled him with a sort of silent contentment. There was also not a whole lot to actually look at in the countryside, just the same hills and fields, orchards and streams. It gave him an excuse to turn his head just a little and gaze at his beautiful blonde lieutenant, and receive no punishment other than a sternly raised eyebrow in his general direction.

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_506 words.  
_


	54. Shackles

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Pride spoilers. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 93 :: Shackles**

Their separation was torture for him.

Roy sat in his apartment, silently, in the dark, gaze fixed on one of the remaining flowers from the week's earlier escapade, visible by the dim light from the streetlight outside his window.

The days passed slowly without her. Without her as his aide, constantly nagging him (or gun whipping him) into doing his paperwork. Without her beside him here, without her small hand settled comfortingly on his thigh, without her cuddled up beside him in bed.

This truly was the greatest torture the homunculi could inflict on him. His entire team gone, even his beloved Riza. He was stuck here now, sitting in his apartment, waiting for news to reach him that could dictate his next action. Stuck. They'd imprisoned him in this small space, suffocating in its emptiness. He was left to sit here and contemplate his next move, all the enemies' pieces restored, only his king remaining. At this rate, a checkmate in his favor seemed impossible.

Yes, this was a prison, the four walls lined with bars, the shadows shackles, binding him to this spot.

* * *

Their separation was torture for her.

She was sitting in the middle of her bed, pajama-clad, every lamp she owned shining brightly around her, hitting every possible crevice. Black Hayate was in her arms, sticking his little snout into the air to lick her chin comfortingly. Her fingers played across his fur, soothing the little whimpers he uttered at his master's apparent discomfort.

"It's okay," she repeated for the thousandth time that week. "I'm okay."

This would be so much easier if _he'd_ been there. She needed him now, more than ever. She needed the familiar sound of his voice. She needed the protecting circle of his arms. She needed the distinct sound of his heartbeat, the rough texture of the scars on his abdomen, the feel of his light stubble in the morning, the warmth he held after their nightly activities.

She needed him.

Riza Hawkeye was not a weak person, in fact she was the strongest most independent woman anyone had ever met. But right now she'd been reduced to a frightened little girl, jumping at every sound, fearing every shadow, clinging to her dog as the only comfort she could find now, the only warmth offered to her.

It was enough to hold up her front at work, at the store, in the hallway. It took great effort to always be on the look-out, knowing she was always being watched. She couldn't let Pride know how much he'd affected her. She couldn't be weak to him.

But here, in her bedroom, the feeling ceased, the fears dissipating as outstanding light bathed the entire room. Here she could shudder and shed a tear or two, praying for her beloved colonel and his safety.

Yet still, anywhere she went, controlled and entrapped by Wrath, she could feel the shadowy shackles Pride always had on her, always following, always watching.

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_500 words.  
_


	55. Letter

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: A little take on what would have happened had Roy and Riza stayed in touch before Ishbal. I guess past spoilers? Does this count still? Meh.

* * *

**Theme 35 :: Letter**

Mr. Mustang,

I am just writing to see how military life is treating you. Have you taken the alchemy exam yet? Surely with the secrets I taught you, you'll pass. Me? I'm well. My grandfather has seen to my continued education and well-being. I've recently taken up shooting. Yes, I know I tried it when we were younger, but I am much more serious about it now, so don't fear for my safety – I don't leave the house without at least one weapon on my person. Hope you're doing well and write as soon as you can.

Please don't die,  
Riza Hawkeye

* * *

Miss Hawkeye,

It was a pleasant surprise to hear from you again, and I must say I am more than relieved to hear you are well. The military is rough, but I'm getting through, and still hopeful that someday I'll be able to help everyone and change this country. I have passed the alchemy exam and thanks to you and your father have been granted the title 'Flame Alchemist'. Fitting, isn't it? I'm a major now. It's strange, having an office and all these people looking up to me. It's a prestigious but lonely existence, and I must admit I miss your familiar presence.

Take care,  
Major Roy Mustang

* * *

Major Mustang,

Congratulations on the promotion. I'm sure it was well-earned, even without the alchemy license. I'm glad the secrets have helped you so, and hope you use them to protect many people in the future. As for me, I have just enrolled in the military academy, so perhaps you will not have to be without my presence for too much longer. I know you will probably disapprove, but I am happy. I am at the top of my class, and specializing in sniping. Funny, we have both chosen paths to help and protect people, which will only result in more death. It's a morbid irony, our existence.

Yours,  
Cadet Riza Hawkeye

* * *

Riza,

I am glad you have found some semblance of happiness, but I must admit I hoped you would never have to suffer blood on your hands. Hopefully the tensions in Ishbal won't result in war – I would hate for you to be sent into battle so young. Sniping seems right for you, you always had a keen eye. And to be honest I am not at all surprised you're at the top of your class; you were always frighteningly intelligent and admirably dedicated. There was never any doubt you'd succeed and excel at anything you put your mind to. Perhaps when you graduate I can pull some strings to put you under my command?

Yours,  
Roy

* * *

Roy,

It's odd to refer to you by your first name, after Father's rules. But you used mine, so I suppose it's only fitting. Your compliments flatter me, sir, and I am glad you are satisfied with my performance. I'm sorry for having not written in so long, but things are hectic here; everyone's very antsy about the growing tensions in Ishbal. Hopefully we will be working together in some office somewhere, and not struggling through war. Strange, I've grown to anticipate your letters. They are truly a light in this dark world. Hope you are well.

Yours,  
Riza

* * *

Riza,

I have grown to anticipate your letters as well. To think, we grow closer when everyone says it's wrong to do so. I miss you. Perhaps we should make plans the next time we both have leave – though that may be an eternity from now. But it seems the war in Ishbal is official now, and it's only a matter of time before we will both be sent there. I only hoped our reunion would be in a happier place, in happier times. Good luck to you, Riza. And I hope to see you soon. Please, be safe and come back alive.

Yours always,  
Roy

* * *

Roy,

This is my last letter, written in my last moments before boarding the train for Ishbal. To think, they're sending us cadets there. Only the top portion of the class is going – I will be the only female cadet there, and from what I've heard, the only female sniper. I suppose I'm lucky everyone still mistakes me for a boy. I'm sorry, I've ventured off topic; I guess I'm more than a little unnerved. Joining the military doesn't mean you want to go to war. I would ask if you're being sent now too, but I suppose if that be the case, I will see you before I receive your letter. As selfish as this sounds, I'm excited to see you. It's been so long. My train is leaving soon, so I'm afraid this will have to end here, but know that you have me to come home to, and I will do everything in my power to protect you should you be sent to the frontlines. But most importantly, please, don't die. And I mean it.

Love – yes, love,  
Riza

* * *

_831 words.  
_


	56. I don't want to realize'

Disclaimer: Really, I'm not rich enough to buy FMA. Sorry. If I were, I guarantee we'd see Roy and Riza, like, last month. No, I'm not bitter.

* * *

**Theme 18 :: 'I don't want to realize'**

Riza Hawkeye was an independent woman. She didn't need a man to make her complete. She didn't need anything more than a gun at her side and a cause worth her dedication. She was just fine on her own. She didn't need anything but herself.

Roy Mustang was a handsome military officer. He was a charmer and any girl would give anything to just be the center of his attention for one night. Just one night.

That is, any girl but Riza Hawkeye.

She was sitting at her desk, allegedly doing paperwork, watching her colonel do the same. He had an amazing talent for avoiding work, and an even more amazing talent for getting away with it. Perhaps she just had a soft spot for him, as much credit as everyone gave her for being able to get the alchemist to do his work with just the indication of one of the guns hidden on her person.

Yes, he had a special place in her heart. He was the cause of the majority of her rare smiles, at least those not due to her darling Black Hayate. He always knew what to say when times were particularly stressful, always knew the right time to call when something was wrong, always knew how she liked her tea, always knew when to give up on teasing. He had that certain way of knowing her that none of her other co-workers or friends ever quite caught onto.

She truly admired that about him, his thoroughness when it came to her. He was the only one that could make her smile like that, or could bring a faint pink blush to her cheeks.

Some would say she was madly in love with him.

But she wasn't, she told herself. Of course she wasn't – it was forbidden. Fraternization amongst military personnel was strictly prohibited. She'd never risk her career for a foolish fling with her commanding officer.

Though, another part of her said, with Roy it wouldn't be so foolish, nor would it be much of a fling.

But she chastised herself and kept going, refusing to admit she felt anything for the man but respect and professional admiration. She didn't want to realize she was in love.

* * *

_381 words.  
_


	57. Sly Person

Disclaimer: Really. Still don't own it.

Author's Note: This turned out totally different than I expected it to. Really.

* * *

**Theme 39 :: Sly Person**

Military balls were generally boring. Previously, Roy had asked some random (or not so random, was Havoc's side of the story) girl to accompany him as his date, his bodyguard (oddly) going with Lieutenant General Grumman. He never really questioned her choice in company, though he often found himself shuddering at the thought of Hawkeye having a thing for older men – _much_ older men. In fact, Grumman was practically old enough to be her grandfather.

But this year, they were in Central, and he managed to beat Havoc to asking Hawkeye to be his date for the evening. It was nice, he thought, to be able to cast aside the fraternization laws – casual dates for the balls were exempt, as many military personnel simply didn't have the time to find real dates.

He was particularly excited because military women were not required to wear dress uniform. Hawkeye had, though, when she was with Grumman in East City, but she'd told him she'd do her best to find something more suitable for him.

He wanted this night to be special. He went out and found her a corsage (after having interrogated Gracia to find out what color her dress would be), and slicked his hair back as best he could. It was nice to at least pretend there was something there, even with the fraternization laws.

He was standing at the door to her apartment now, gussied up and ready to go. He rang the doorbell and she called out, telling him to come on in and she'd be ready shortly. He entered, patting an overly excited Black Hayate as he did so, and stood respectfully by the door, waiting.

A few moments later, Riza appeared in a burgundy gown, high-backed to cover the tattoo, but leaving little to the imagination up front. It seemed a little out of character for her, but Roy wasn't complaining. And, he figured, it had probably been Gracia's choice anyways.

He cleared his throat and offered her the corsage, which she accepted with a soft smile, allowing him to slip it onto her wrist. "You look beautiful," he told her.

"Thank you," she said, running her fingers through her hair, unaccustomed to the loose curls. "You look as handsome as ever."

He smiled, before remembering something. "Oh, right, I forgot. I have something for you." He patted his chest, feeling for which pocket he'd put it in.

She frowned, folding her arms across her chest. "It had better not be some paperwork you forgot and are now trying to pin on me."

"Damn, I knew I forgot something," he smirked. "Aha," he said, pulling out a small jewelry box.

"Oh, Colonel, you didn't have to do anything like . . ." she trailed off as he opened the box to reveal a ruby pendant, flanked by diamonds, hanging on a simple gold chain. "Sir," she breathed, "where did you get this?"

His face fell, feeling she was upset in some way. "Uh, General Grumman sent it to me. He somehow caught wind of our little engagement and told me to give you this."

She carefully pulled the necklace out of its case, holding it up to the light to see it better. "This," she whispered, "was my mother's."

Roy frowned. "Your mother's? Then why did the general . . ."

"General Grumman is my grandfather."

His eyes widened, his mouth opening a little in shock. "Your gra . . . General Gru . . ." he trailed off, all the pieces falling into place – why Riza always attended gatherings with him, the many visits she paid him when they were stationed in the east, the talk of marriage . . .

"Riza," he said quietly. "I think we're . . . engaged."

"Well, yes, sir. We are," she said matter-of-factly, setting the necklace back down.

"You _knew_?"

"Of course. Do you honestly think I'd let my grandfather give me away without asking my permission first? Really, I'm surprised he sent you my mother's necklace instead of my mother's ring."

Roy blushed. "Well, actually," he fumbled around in his pockets again and procured a ring box, "he sent me both. He told me to choose, assuring me you'd be delighted with either."

Riza suddenly felt herself blushing, and couldn't help but laugh. "Wow," she said in awe.

"Yeah. Wow." He stuffed the ring box back into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair. "Your grandfather is one sly person, do you know that?"

After some awkward discussion, they finally decided that the ring could most certainly wait, but Roy was happy to clasp the necklace round Riza's neck before offering her his arm, the night only beginning.

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_788 words.  
_


	58. Day Off

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: So this is sort of an extension of the opening scene of chapter 31. Short and kind of silly and vaguely crack-ish, but I like it. Poor Riza. **  
**

* * *

**Theme 42 :: Day Off**

Her first day off since moving to Central, and Riza Hawkeye spent it buying groceries.

That is, until she came across Barry. Oh, Barry. She'd planned on making her way back to what was allegedly Mustang's apartment (but really was half hers as well), and surprising him with his favorite meal, hot and ready to eat by the time he got home from work. And now, here she was, sitting in front of a telephone booth with an empty suit of armor with a penchant for chopping things up. Worst of all, said suit of armor seemed to have developed a sort of _crush_ on her.

And she thought dealing with groceries on her day off was bad.

Her chin resting in the heel of her hand, she waited for what seemed like forever, calmly informing Barry that he was not to chop anything up, for her sake.

When she finally saw Roy make his way down the street, his gait a little faster than usual, she stood, saluting. "Sorry for bothering you at such a busy time, Colonel."

"Missy, who's this punk?" Barry asked, obviously sensing the competition.

She swiftly elbowed him in the head. "Hey, you, be quiet."

Roy frowned, feeling his territory being encroached on, pulling his pyrotex glove over his fingers. "Move aside, Lieutenant. The flame power tonight is going to be extra strong."

Riza rolled her eyes. "Please calm down, Colonel! This is Barry the Chopper, who supposedly had been executed."

Roy stared in shock for a moment, before deciding on a location to better continue this conversation.

They walked down the street, Riza at the center, holding a buffer zone between the two rival males.

"Thanks for saving me back there, Missy," the armor flirted. "See," he said to Roy, "She likes me better, don't you Sweetie?"

Roy glowered.

Riza swiftly punched Barry in the face. "Don't call me Sweetie. That's his job," she said, indicating her colonel.

Roy smirked, that trademark Mustang grin. "Ha! Who does she like better now, huh?"

Riza rolled her eyes and sighed. Of all the things she could spend doing on her day off, the last thing she expected was to be mediating a fight (over her) between her commanding officer and a serial killer's soul bound to a suit of armor.

* * *

_389 words.  
_


	59. Now

Disclaimer: Really. Still don't own anything.

Author's Note: So this is sufficiently RANDOM. But I think Bizzy might like it after the upset over 'Cureless' and the nonexistent Royai baby ;) This is post-manga, on the absurd assumption that everyone gets a relatively happy ending. Some anime influence. Uh . . . yeah. RANDOM.

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**Theme 95 :: Now**

It was Elysia's and Edward's birthday party, conveniently located at Central Headquarters to provide the optimal amount of space. In true Hughes tradition, it was the most important celebration the military knew, and it wasn't because of the great Fullmetal Alchemist.

Elysia was turning five. Big day.

As predicted, everyone had found her what they considered to be the most beautiful doll in the world and wrapped her up in a pretty box with bright paper and ribbons.

Elysia was delighted.

Edward on the other hand, was a more difficult recipient to shop for. Gracia and Elysia had supplied him with comic books, his brother with a metallic glove as tribute to his namesake, despite having since lost any need for automail, and Winry, accordingly, had given him his automail limbs back, saying they were for sentimental value (and of course there was an IOU clasped in the metal hand that Roy couldn't help but be utterly disgusted by).

Riza, too busy and weary to go shopping herself, had let Roy choose for the both of them.

"All right," Gracia said, handing Edward a box, "this one is from the Mustangs."

Edward looked over to the Flame Alchemist and couldn't help but smile – Roy's arm was around his former lieutenant – now wife's – shoulders while she leaned sleepily and a bit uncomfortably against him, a hand on her large belly.

But something wasn't right, there was that trademark Roy Mustang smirk there and he began to wonder what on earth was in this box. He quickly tore into it, wrapping and tissue paper flying around him before he stopped suddenly, staring into the box for a moment, before angrily holding up what appeared to be a stuffed animal.

Or more specifically, a stuffed _shrimp_.

"Who are you calling so short he could talk face to face with a shrimp and still think the shrimp's a giant?!"

The entire room erupted into a chorus of hearty laughter as Ed asserted that he _had_ grown since he and Al had gotten their bodies back, and that, in fact, he was a little taller than Winry now – as if that was such a monumental feat.

Riza stirred against Roy, groaning lightly.

"Hey, are you all right?" he whispered, rubbing her shoulder a little.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "My back's just sore."

He lowered his hand to rub soothing circles in the small of her back as they turned their attention back to the party.

Some time later Riza excused herself to the restroom and Roy joined in a game with Havoc, Fuery and Alphonse, tickling Elysia into submission.

Riza reentered the room, biting her lip, arms folded nervously across her chest. "Roy?"

He didn't seem to notice, busy with his giggling and red-faced 'niece'.

"Roy?" she tried a little louder, but to no avail. Finally, fed up with his ignorance, she took out her sidearm and fired three shots into the floor. "Roy Mustang!"

Everyone instantly turned to see the blonde fuming angrily at her husband, gun still in hand. Roy was still halfway hunched over a recovering Elysia, who was seated in the chair-bound man's lap.

"The baby's coming," she announced evenly.

Everyone stared in silence before Roy spoke, "Now?"

"Now."

"Are you sure? _Now_?"

"Of course now, you idiot."

There was another moment of silence before the entire room burst into action, trying their best to make way for the new arrival, but mostly making nuisances of themselves. Roy was instantly at her side, guiding her to the door.

"Uh, Chief?" came Havoc's voice.

"What now, Havoc?" Roy asked, clearly annoyed and impatient.

"I, uh, don't think you're gonna make it to the hospital anytime soon," he said, indicating the window where the night's inevitable blizzard was clearly visible.

It took Gracia all of five seconds to start shouting orders at the military personnel assembled, sending Fuery off for hot water and Falman for towels, all the while assuring Riza she was going to be just fine. After all, look how adorable Elysia turned out to be.

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_680 words.  
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	60. Giddiness

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: Sugary sweet. Past spoilers. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 70 :: Giddiness**

There was nothing that children loved more than a good game on a late summer afternoon.

There was no-one there to watch them, no-one to take photographs, to appreciate their childlike innocence as they raced through the garden, to bring them drinks or sweaters as the night's chill crept over the small town. But they wouldn't have it any other way.

Riza, now seven years old, raced through the bushes on bare feet, her play dress swirling around her as she went, ear-length hair pinned away from her face with little butterfly clips. She shrieked happily, dodging her pursuer as she tumbled down the path.

Roy laughed heartily, a little clumsy with his ten year old gawkiness, chasing after her, warning, "I'm gonna get you!"

"Not if you can't catch me," she giggled, disappearing in the shrubbery, her lack of height her strength in this battle.

Roy rooted around for her awhile, peering over the tops of shrubs, crawling on his hands and knees hoping to catch sight of her.

Finally, he found her and tackled, pinning her to the ground, leaving them in a heap of dirty limbs, tangled hair and giggles.

"See?" he said cheekily. "I caught you."

She wrinkled her nose, lips pursed tightly, refusing to admit defeat.

He smirked, holding her wrists steady with one hand, tickling her with the other, causing her to squirm and kick at him as best she could.

They finally calmed down, the sun setting around them, turning the sky from blue to orange to red to black, little white lights twinkling around them, a cool breeze causing goosebumps to run up and down their arms.

Around them, fireflies began to make their presence known, humming around them, flickering.

One found Riza and managed to land on the tip of her nose, its little light blinking on and off contentedly. She held her breath and wrinkled her nose again, just a little, tickled at the sensation. Roy was a bit amused at her resilience to the insect – most girls, particularly her age, would shriek and run away – but she just sat there, eyes crossed, gazing at her new little friend.

Another gust of wind hit them and she shivered, the firefly fleeing at the sudden disturbance.

"Cold?" Roy asked, helping her to sit up and lean on him, as he put an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her warm.

She snuggled up happily next to him – he being the first person to offer her such physical affection since her mother passed away – and eventually clambered into his lap. There he was greeted with the back of her neck, her dress pulled down a little in the back to show a bit of her upper back, some black lines visible, peeking over the edge of the fabric.

"What's this?" he asked, running his forefinger along the lines.

She stiffened suddenly, then stood, pulling on her dress to cover up the mysterious markings. "Come on, Mr. Mustang," she smiled again. "Bet you can't catch me this time!" And she took off running, once more dodging in and out of hedges that completely obscured her from his vision.

"Bet you're wrong!" he called back and chased after her, stumbling along the path, trusting star and moonlight – with a little aide from the fireflies – to guide his way._  
_

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_557 words.  
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	61. Surprise Attack

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: Uh, this one is definitely like T+. Very . . . ah . . . smuffy? Just a warning. Nothing totally explicit, just heavily implied and skirted around. **  
**

* * *

**Theme 85 :: Surprise Attack**

Roy sat, content, one Riza Hawkeye nestled so tightly in his arms, reading intently. This was a nice way to pass a Friday night, warm from the fireplace and the wool blanket wrapped around them, her apartment still mostly in boxes, forgotten. He wasn't entirely sure why they chose to spend the night here, as it was mostly a front anyways, a technicality to put on paperwork so as to quell any suspicions.

Perhaps they had intended to unpack a little. That would explain the few boxes open around them, where they'd found plates on which to eat their takeout and the book and the blanket.

He gave up on the thought and concentrated on raising one hand to unclasp her hairclip, setting it aside to comb his fingers through her long locks, still slightly damp at having been twisted and held up all day. The scent of her shampoo permeated the air and he couldn't help but place a light kiss on her jaw.

The corners of her mouth twitched a little, and her eyebrows raised, but she continued to read, refusing to give into him so easily.

He continued his attentions on her hair, massaging her scalp a little with his fingertips, placing another kiss, closer to her chin this time, lips lingering just a little longer than before. Her eyebrows shot a little closer to her hairline, disappearing under her bangs, but she refused to yield. Well, maybe a little, she thought, tilting her head to give him better access.

This process continued for awhile, and eventually Riza's defenses caved and she was turning for her lips to meet his, letting him support her as he guided her to lie down on the couch, moving atop her as he deepened the kiss, fingers venturing in search of known sensitive spots, tugging at clothing already.

This little escapade progressed at a surprising pace, shirts now discarded on the floor, trousers unbuttoned, and bruises already forming on necks. Who would have thought a hardly furnished, cardboard box cluttered room could call for such a heated romantic engagement?

Riza was just about to tug his pants over his hips when she heard something and stopped, reluctantly pulling her lips from his. "What was that?"

"Hmm?" he asked.

"I thought I heard something," she frowned, pushing him up to look around.

He scanned the room as well. "Maybe it was next door?" he suggested.

"Maybe," she nodded, before pulling him back down to continue their previous activities.

She was reaching for his waistband again and stopped. "There it is again!"

"But there's no-one here," he said seriously, thinking she was just being jumpy – a secret problem she had ever since Ishbal.

She looked a little put out, but he silenced her tensions with a soft kiss to her forehead. They were just building the mood again when a flying ball of white and black fur leapt from the floor to the couch, somehow managing to land between them, a sloppy wet tongue bathing Riza's face in messy doggy kisses.

"Hayate . . ." Roy growled, to which the pup turned and gave the same attention to him, much to the delight of his owner, laughing under them.

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_541 words.  
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	62. Special Seat

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: Here's some angst to cut the fuzz. Sorry.

* * *

**Theme 63 :: Special Seat**

She had a special seat reserved, just for her.

She couldn't quite remember the last time she felt so empty, so utterly devoid of emotion. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed, maybe pull Hayate into her arms, and sleep. Yes, sleep, that elusive thing she'd been missing these past few days. It was torture sleeping in that bed – their bed – without his trademark smirk to wake up to, without having to shove his sorry self out from under the covers, without kissing him goodnight or whispering to him through his nightmares.

Sleep was elusive, now that he was gone.

She'd never really liked her dress uniform – she felt the men got the better end of the bargain with long coats instead of skirts. She considered replacing the conservative skirt issued with a much shorter one, in honor of him, but then decided against it, not wanting anyone ogling at her at his funeral.

That's right, it was Roy Mustang's funeral.

Their tragic affair had been revealed at his death, when she'd sobbed mournfully in Havoc's arms, for that brief moment no longer the strong, resilient woman they all knew. She'd cried out her love for her colonel, and been reduced to a pitiful lump cradled in Havoc's lap, clinging to him tightly as he steered his chair into a more private location, where no-one would have to see the courageous woman's tears.

Now that the fraternization laws didn't really have any grounds, they'd allowed her the same rights as any spouse of a military officer killed in combat – her own special, reserved seat. There were other seats there, probably meant for children, but they had none. Instead, Gracia and Elysia were at her side, there should she need a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold. Her grandfather was there too, grief-stricken as the three ladies beside him, and he spent the entire ceremony with his hand protectively on Riza's knee, sheltering her as best he could.

But she needed none of that. Her tears were long since over, the time with Havoc merely a weak moment, a foolish, selfish, weak moment when she'd let her guard down. She'd let it all out then, all the tears and all the anguish, leaving just a hollow shell of the Riza Hawkeye they'd once known.

She stared straight ahead, dry-eyed through the entire service, refusing to speak, refusing to accept condolences from others, simply running her fingers over a ring she was finally able to place on her left hand. It was funny, she thought, that they weren't allowed to bind themselves together in life, but now she could promise herself to a mere corpse, soon to rot away six feet under.

She knew souls existed as a separate entity – Alphonse Elric and Barry the Chopper were proof enough – but what they hadn't proved, in all their research, in all their journeys, was what happens to a soul when the body dies, if the soul even remained.

Yes, she thought, she was married to a memory now, but it was enough.

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_519 words.  
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	63. Footsteps

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: Past spoilers? Ish?

* * *

**Theme 81 :: Footsteps**

She always hated when her father got angry like this.

She was only six years old, and her father had a new student – Roy Mustang. He was nine and part Xingese. She didn't really know much about him aside from that he was intelligent, polite and maybe a little on the lazy side. He was to stay with them for nine week periods, returning to his family for three weeks at a time, until he was old enough to become a full apprentice.

What an odd thing to be thinking about at a time like this.

Her father loved her; she had no doubt that he did. Just, sometimes, he forgot.

He never meant to hurt her. He never meant to say the things he did. He was just sad. He'd been different ever since her mother died – different and frightening. He'd absorbed himself in his work, and the man who had once been a loving father and husband became an obsessed tyrant, treating his own child like the help, using her for his research.

She hadn't meant to spill, it was just that her little hands didn't quite fit around the handle of the pitcher. She didn't mean to drop it; she'd only meant to pour her father a glass of water. She hadn't meant for said water to go splashing all over his most recent research, smudging it and leaving it unreadable. He'd have to start from scratch. It was no wonder he didn't care about the little bleeding hand and the little crying girl.

It wasn't his fault.

She stumbled through the house, her cut hand wrapped in her apron. She could hear his footsteps behind him, loud and rumbling on the old stairs. Her eyes widened in fear, afraid of his screaming, afraid of the harsh swats to her bum, and she ducked inside the nearest room, breathing hard and irregularly as she slumped against the door.

"Riza?"

She looked up, startled, only now realizing this was Roy's room. "Oh, I . . . I'm sorry, Mr. Mustang," she sniffed, eyes fixed on the reddening fabric around her hand.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, coming over. "What happened?"

"Father's research . . . spilled water . . . angry," was all he could understand through her squeaking.

"Here," he said, voice quiet and unthreatening. "Let me see your hand."

She hesitated for a moment, before holding it out to him. He looked it over, decided there were no glass shards in it, and used the remainder of her apron as a makeshift bandage. He kissed her palm lightly. "All better."

She frowned. "Why'd you do that?"

He shrugged. "That's what my mom used to do when I got hurt. She said the kiss made it feel better."

She began wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands and he was about to take her in search of antiseptic, when they heard her father's menacing footsteps in the hallway, voice booming, "Riza Hawkeye, come back here!"

She whimpered and, without a thought, threw herself into the boy's arms, burrowing.

Understanding now why she was so upset, he gently guided her under his bed, where she stayed as her father searched the room, only coming out when she heard his footsteps retreat.

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_550 words.  
_


	64. Song

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: I don't know why, but I'm really liking young!Roy and young!Riza lately, it's odd. Anyways, this goes from young! to postmanga!Royai, so possible past spoilers. I hadn't originally intended this to be quite so bittersweet, but oh well.

* * *

**Theme 68 :: Song**

When they were young, he would often stand on the porch, watching her water the gardens. She was very little in comparison to the watering can, and she had to use both arms to lug it around with her, splashing water along the path in her wake. She was a charming, fascinating little girl, mature for her age and a little on the shy side. They were friends now, at least of some sort. But he still liked to watch her, trudging along, squeaking through some song she had not yet learned the lyrics too, mumbling and humming when she couldn't find the words.

When they were a bit older, he a full-time apprentice, she a young woman, becoming more beautiful by the day, he'd often help her in the kitchen. She refused to let him have any real input, insisting he'd just ruin her recipes, but allowed him to wash and cut the vegetables, and stir when she was busy elsewhere. Then, he recognized the same song, humming under her breath, as she stood on her toes to reach things in higher cabinets, as her nimble fingers kneaded the dough, as she dipped a finger into the sauce for a taste. The melody enraptured him, and he'd find himself staring, waiting for her to open her mouth and sing.

It was years later when he next heard that song, shivering in his cot in Ishbal. Nightmares and illness plagued him, and she'd taken on the responsibility of taking care of him, cool wet washcloths on his face and neck, gentle callused fingers combing his hair, and that familiar song, gaining words once more floating around him, caressing him. He tried to pick out the lyrics, to memorize them, but the fever clouded his mind and they were elusive once more.

Many battles and wars later, she was lying in a hospital bed, a pink faced bundle lying contentedly in her arms. The child was named Maes – their healthy, beautiful son, a reward for their patient waiting, their many struggles and triumphs. He sat beside her, on the edge of the bed, watching the boy as he absently fondled her tangled hair, twisting it round his fingers. She rocked her baby gently, one hand lightly patting his back, as that same song purred in the back of her throat, calming the infant's cries. He couldn't help but lean down and kiss her then.

It was five years later that Maes had fallen tragically ill, his mother weary with grief. But the boy was hopeful, always smiling like his namesake, a secret crush on his 'cousin' Elysia (she's so cute, he'd say), and he was even cheerful when they'd had to take him to the hospital. He was lying in bed, supplied with oxygen and fluids while his mother sat nearby, his father behind her, hands comfortingly on her shoulders. "Mummy?" he asked quietly. "Could you sing me the song? The lullaby?" She complied, fingers tightly gripping his small hand. It was then Roy recognized it – an Ishbalan lullaby, soft and endearing – the song that gently lulled the boy to sleep.

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_524 words.  
_


	65. Hair Clip

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own anything.

Author's Note: Loosely based on a scene I have in mind for a fic I hope to do after NaNo which is in turn loosely based on the Young Elrics saga . . . not too good, but I didn't want to forget the overall idea and the theme was there, so here you go.

* * *

**Theme 52 :: Hair Clip**

Riza Hawkeye received her first hair clip as a Christmas present from her commanding officer.

She had grown her hair long, and it had been a pain when it was growing out, too short to pull back but still always getting in the way. Still, she'd managed, using headbands or small barrettes to at least keep it out of her face. Her grandfather had told her she'd look lovely with long hair and she'd taken this advice to heart. She thought that once it was long enough to pull back into a ponytail, it'd be easier to manage.

Unfortunately, she was wrong.

Whenever she pulled it back, the hair tie would just fall out, leaving her hair flying into her face and caught in her mouth. When she tried tying it back more tightly, the band would often break, leaving her in the same situation as before. When she tried the type that had the little metal clasp, which she assumed to be stronger, she found it painful, pulling out large clumps of hair with it every evening.

She was going to cut it back to how it was when she was younger, just as soon as the holidays were over. Though she was often mistaken for a boy, it was far preferable to a possibly fatal error due to obscured vision.

It was the Hughes' annual Christmas party, and when gifts were exchanged, Roy had grinned and handed her a small box. She'd raised her eyebrows questioningly before opening it and finding a simple brown hair clip – function over style, just like her.

"Thank you, sir," she'd said.

The rest of the gifts were handed out, and she found herself also in possession of a hand-knitted scarf from Gracia and more firearm accessories than she could possibly need.

It was getting late, and everyone was a bit tipsy on the extra strong eggnog, when she located a long mirror in the hallway, and went to try out her favorite gift of the evening. She combed her fingers through her hair for a moment, contemplating, before trying to pin it to the back of her head. This seemed fine at first, but when she moved too much it felt loose, like it would fall out if she had to do any strenuous physical activity.

She frowned and took it out again, before grabbing the hair tie she kept on her wrist. She pulled it back easily, and from there pinned it up again. This seemed to hold much better and she was pleased with this improvement. She was about to return to the party when she noticed that her hair was sticking up, oddly, peeking over the top of her head.

"Do you like it?" she saw Roy's reflection in the mirror.

"Yes, sir. Very much. Thank you."

"It looks good," he smiled.

"Thank you, sir, but it's sticking up a little. Doesn't it look . . . funny?"

He cocked his head to one side and examined her, both in the flesh and in reflection. "No. Actually, I rather like it. It's very . . . you."

They shared a smile. "I'm glad," she said.

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_531 words.  
_


	66. Side of Face

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: I seriously have NO IDEA where this came from. None. Whatsoever. It's so . . . random and overall odd.

* * *

**Theme 48 :: Side of Face**

Riza Hawkeye had been very close to the explosion, and, as the doctor said, she was extremely lucky just to be alive.

It had all happened so fast – she'd just been running some errands, picking up lunch for their team when she'd become the victim of a senseless act of terrorism. A bomb in a car outside the little sandwich shop. She'd been walking out, felt a prickling sensation, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end, when she saw it. She turned, trying to usher as many people as she could away, her belongings scattered on the sidewalk, as everything around turned to flames.

It was almost ironic, that she'd almost died at the hands of an explosion – of fire. She, the aide to the famous Flame Alchemist, daughter of the man who created flame alchemy, the keeper of those secrets.

She didn't have to worry about it any longer, though, for the tattoo had been sufficiently burned away, more than Roy had been able to force himself to destroy those years ago.

In fact, most of her body was burned now. Her right side, arm, leg and face included, along with her back from the waist up, had suffered severe burns.

The time at the hospital had been painful, for there was no way she could relax that would not aggravate her injuries, other than lying on her unmarred front, her left cheek pressed into the pillow. The men had brought her flowers and Fuery had even managed to sneak Hayate in for visits when she was well enough to finally move around and find new positions.

Now she was staying with Roy, who had hardly left her side throughout the duration of her hospital stay. They'd been working on rehabilitation, walking, writing – he'd suggested she just learn to write with her left hand, and she'd agreed that this would prove to be a useful skill – among other mundane things. She still needed help from time to time, and got tired easily, giving him reason – despite her refusal – to spoil her, carrying her where she needed to go and bringing her breakfast in bed. He was more than pleased to give her anything she wanted.

She was currently sitting up in bed, reading, while he sat not too far away, still refusing to let her out of his sight. "Riza?"

"Yes, sir?" she replied, not looking up.

He studied her profile, the unmarred side of her face just as wonderfully handsome as it had always been. She then turned her head to look at him fully, her face split in the middle by a slightly slanted line – on one side, the soft features were unmarred and on the other, gnarled twisted flaming flesh made up her cheek, her temple, her chin.

He found her hauntingly beautiful.

"I'm glad you're all right," he said softly, the backs of his fingers reaching out to brush over the uneven skin.

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_500 words.  
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	67. Memories

Disclaimer: Still don't own it.

Author's Note: Again, totally not what I intended for this. Originally it was going to be some sort of sappy looking through photo albums type thing, but I started doing a lead-in and it went in a totally different direction. Oh, well.

* * *

**Theme 87 :: Memories**

It was only temporary, the doctor told her, that he'd regain his memories eventually. For now, it was best to keep to their normal routine.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. How was she supposed to tell him that they were having a secret romance that no-one could ever know about? He remembered back to just after having taken the alchemy exam, but that was before 'he' and 'she' had become a 'they'.

She led him through the door of what was allegedly his apartment, really theirs. "So I'm a colonel now?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, setting down the suitcase – the only one he'd allowed her to carry, insisting it was the gentlemanly thing to do – "And I'm a first lieutenant; your aide."

"It's strange that you're in the military, Riza."

"Why's that?"

He shrugged, looking around. "I don't know. I guess I never wanted that life for you." Making his way through the apartment, he began to notice some interesting details in his home. "Uh, Riza?"

"Hmm?"

"Am I . . . married?" he asked.

"No, sir, you're not. Why?"

He blushed and cleared his throat before indicating a variety of things that would lead one to believe a woman lived here as well – birth control pills and Midol on the table, tampons in the bathroom, women's clothing in the closet – and, most significantly, condoms in the bedroom.

Riza took a deep breath. "About that, there's a few things you should probably now . . ."

She went on to explain that they were, indeed, together but no-one, literally no-one, knew about it but them, and that her apartment was simply a ruse while she lived here with him. They spent some nights over there, but not many.

He stared at her open-mouthedly, trying to wrap his mind around this concept and she sighed, guiding him over to the couch. "But if it's uncomfortable for you, sir, we can pretend that never happened and I'll go back to my apartment once you're settled."

Sinking further into the couch, he ran a hand over his face. "No, that's fine, uh, Riza? Lieutenant?"

The corner of her mouth twitched a little in amusement. "You call me 'Riza' in private, and 'Lieutenant' while in uniform, sir."

"But you still call me 'sir'?" he frowned.

"Yes, sir, and no, you never grow to like it."

"Good to know," he mused.

She set about unpacking their things, while he watched her contemplatively. She was quite beautiful, intelligent, and not to mention close to his heart. It was a wonder he'd not pursued her before, he thought.

Finished, she settled next to him on the couch, reading through the labels on his new medication. "Does your head hurt?"

"It's fine," he said, admiring the expanse of thigh revealed by the slit in her skirt, the way her hair fell round her shoulders "How did we get together?" he asked suddenly.

Her hands and breathing stilled instantly, before she lowered her eyes. "I'm not sure that's the most . . . pleasant memory to remind you of, Colonel."

His brow crinkled in confusion.

She sighed. "You really want to know?" He nodded. "To put it lightly, you were having a rough time. You came over to my apartment and we, ah," she cleared her throat, mildly flustered. "'Fraternized,' as you called it."

"Oh," he said quietly. "It doesn't sound . . . horrible?" he tried, a little upset that his first intimate encounter with the woman was under such unloving circumstances.

She remained silent for a moment, before turning the conversation to happier things. "But enough of that. Is there anything special you'd like for dinner?"

"Not hungry."

"You're hurt," she scolded. "You need to eat."

"I just hit my head. That's what you said."

She rolled her eyes. "Dinner?"

"Later," he said, taking her hand in his before she had a chance to stand.

"Really, sir, if you're uncomfortable . . ." she trailed off upon feeling him twine his fingers with hers.

"This must be hard for you, Riza."

"It's just a little awkward," she confessed. "After everything, to be around you now, when you don't love me."

His eyes widened. "Who said anything about that?"

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_707 words.  
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	68. Sigh

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Another one that started with the intention of going one direction and ended in another. Contains some one-sided Havoc/Hawkeye. I spent all morning rereading the beginning of D. Gray-man, and once more, I am going to encourage you all to read it. If you like FMA (which I hope you do, considering where you are) and Kingdom Hearts, you'll absolutely love it. Mind you, read it, don't watch - the anime is up there with Naruto in the filler department. Of the first 50 episodes, 30 are filler. Sad day. Anyways, that pimping for Hoshino out of the way, enjoy some sexual tension!

* * *

**Theme 53 :: Sigh**

_Sigh._

Such an innocent, simple sound, and yet so loaded at the same time. Just a breath passing through her lips, lingering only a moment – by the time he looked up it had already passed and she was back to normal, cheek leaning on her hand as she continued with her paperwork, rhythmically signing and stacking, signing and stacking.

He couldn't help but give in and sigh.

She looked up, watching him as he gazed out the window, clearly avoiding the stacks of paperwork littering his desk. His head was tilted to the side, fingers tapping agitatedly on his knee. He was clearly bored, yet even the worst boredom was preferable to signing papers all day. It was times like these she wondered what he was thinking about, what was so enthralling to leave him daydreaming all day instead of working, perhaps giving them a chance to get home on time.

She finally heaved an exasperated sigh. "Colonel, get back to work."

He groaned, gave her a pleading look and did as he was told.

The men watched them, glancing up every now and then while they allegedly worked on their own paperwork; Havoc more intent on chewing his cigarette and contemplating the date he had tonight, Fuery scratching Lieutenant Hawkeye's dog with his foot, Breda munching on a sandwich, Falman reading a book as he'd already finished his work. It was like watching a conversation, Havoc noticed, a whole conversation under their words, told simply through quiet breaths.

And there she was sighing again, and they all noticed when Mustang looked up, staring at her intently as she absently curled some stray hairs around her fingers, other hand holding down the pages of a book, eyes darting back and forth across the page, fingertips rearranging their pressure as they got in her way. She turned the page.

Havoc focused his attention on the colonel, sighing inwardly at his inability to do what was so obvious. The man should just stand up right then and there and kiss her, Hell, push her against the wall, there, in front of all of them. He was choking on the sexual tension and it was becoming almost unbearable. Even he was banking on them – even he who always had a certain liking for Hawkeye, who secretly wished he was the cause of those sighs.

But he wasn't, and he'd come to terms with that. It was a silly, foolish dream, and eventually he'd gotten to the point of simply wishing the best for her, knowing she above all else deserved to be happy. Perhaps that was why he found this sighing business so damn infuriating. Roy obviously loved Riza. Riza obviously loved Roy. That was one thing he could count on, no matter how crazy this world got.

He twitched a little when he heard the colonel let out a breath that sounded just a bit too much like a sigh.

Finally, he stood, tossed his cigarette in the ashtray and walked out.

Roy looked up, startled and turned to the rest of his team, eyes finally settling on Hawkeye. "What's his problem?"

The woman simply looked up from her book and gave a helpless shrug.

* * *

_537 words.  
_


	69. If I die

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA (or Gilmore Girls, I guess).

Author's Note: Sort of an alternate/fill-in/SOMETHING with the time between chapters 39 and 40 (I believe those are the right numbers, it's late). Some dialogue taken from Gilmore Girls episode 1x10 "Forgiveness and Stuff". I was watching that episode lately (thank you ABC Family) and this exchange came up between Emily and Richard and I couldn't help but think of this theme. So here you go.

* * *

**Theme 97 :: "If I die"**

Roy had just woken up from surgery, and of course she'd been at his side.

"Havoc?" he rasped, throat dry.

"He's still in surgery," she soothed, pouring him a glass of water. "They said it'd be awhile yet." She held the glass to his lips with one hand, propping him up with the other to relieve his parched mouth. He choked on it a little, but managed. She used her sleeve to wipe away what had spilled on his chin as she helped him settle back against the pillows.

A doctor came in, checked him over and spoke briefly with Hawkeye.

She sat once more in the chair beside him, fumbling nervously with her gun, disassembling and reassembling it faster than he thought humanly possible.

"Hawkeye?" he said quietly.

"Yes, sir?" her hands hadn't stilled, hadn't even slowed down, running over the familiar metal grooves.

"I . . . I want you to have something. You have a key to my apartment. On the mantel is a porcelain box. Inside there's a key; it goes to the top drawer in my dresser. There's a box there. It has a few things of your father's, your grandfather's, and some things for you . . ." he rambled, anesthesia and pain clouding his mind. He was pale and weak.

"Colonel, what on earth does this have to do with anything?" she asked, finally ceasing the work with her gun, popping the last component into place and looking up at him.

"Riza," he breathed, hands moving to his wounds as the much welcomed numbness surrendered to pain. "If I die . . ."

He heard a sudden intake of breath from her general direction. "No," she said firmly.

"Riza."

"Roy Mustang, there may be many things happening in this hospital tonight but your dying is not one of them."

"But . . ." he tried to cut in, to no avail.

"No, I did not sign on to your dying like this. And it is _not_ going to happen. Not tonight, not for a very long time. In fact, I demand to go first. Do I make myself clear?" She was using that no-nonsense tone no-one knew quite how to command like she did, but there was something in her eyes he hadn't seen there for a long time – fear.

"Insubordination," he muttered, turning a weak smile to her. "I'm afraid I can't promise that, Lieutenant."

Her jaw was set and her brow was furrowed. He knew this was the equivalent of any other woman crying, and reached over to take one of her hands in his – the one now thick with bandages, only able to move enough to curl his fingers round hers. They were both trembling.

She looked down at his bandages, blood staining the pristine white in the shape of that all too familiar array, the same one that had been branded onto her back for most of her life. She finally met his eyes and opened her mouth to say something, but just then two orderlies were pushing an unconscious Havoc into the room, placing his bed next to Roy's.

They quickly pulled apart, he feigning sleep and she standing to discuss Havoc's health with the doctor.

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_544 words.  
_


	70. Halves

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own it.

Author's Note: Happy Thanksgiving! Another Christmas fic. I know, I know, there's already two, but it's Thanksgiving and I'm in a holiday mood, but I doubt they have Thanksgiving in Amestris ;) thus more Christmas. I don't even know what to say about this one. It totally changed as I wrote it. Originally it went to 'Match' but all of a sudden I changed my mind after having a great idea for 'Halves' and just kept the lead-in. Yes, that random. Also, Riza makes homemade shortbread in this. I loooove shortbread. Favorite food (aside from sweet potatoes, also present). I made shortbread this morning, and the dough is so dry it is really hard to deal with, and . . . I don't know. I guess I just wanted Riza to make it too. Oh, well. Also more one-sided Havoc/Hawkeye. I really pity him in this one, though. Poor, poor Havoc. I promise in my big fic I will make you happier . . . somehow.

* * *

**Theme 40 :: Halves**

It was the first Christmas after Ishbal. Riza had graduated from the Academy with honors, and had already been promoted to second lieutenant for her good work in the war. Maes and Gracia had married as soon as he returned, and were in that happy honeymoon phase, already preparing their home for children. Perhaps that was why they insisted having Christmas Eve dinner there.

Hawkeye arrived first, always punctual, and was enveloped in enormous hugs from both Maes and Gracia, and the latter showed Riza and her homemade shortbread into the kitchen where they proceeded to exhibit their feminine sides, bustling around, tending to the meal.

Armstrong and Havoc showed up soon after, gifts in hand, and joined Maes in the living room for drinks.

Finally, Mustang arrived, and it was decided the little party could really start.

Gracia appeared with a tray of Riza's shortbread, and Roy eagerly scooped up a few pieces. "Mm, these are great, Gracia," he chewed, wiping crumbs off his lips.

She smiled a little, handing some to Havoc and Armstrong. "Oh, no, I didn't make them. Riza did."

Mustang and Havoc seemed to perk up instantly. "Riza?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention we invited Hawkeye, too?" Maes feigned. "I could have sworn I told you."

The woman in question presently poked her head out of the kitchen and smiled, offering a salute to all assembled. "Merry Christmas, sirs."

Roy and Jean were both a little shocked to see her, striking in a black skirt and burgundy sweater. There was something indefinably feminine about it, and they both found themselves wondering how difficult it could be to catch her under the mistletoe.

They were soon gathered round the dining room table, feasting on turkey and sweet potatoes. They chatted amiably, Gracia and Maes taking the ends, Roy quickly claiming the spot next to Riza while Havoc had to settle for sitting across from her. Well, he thought, at least he had a better view than Mustang, who was stuck in front of Major Armstrong, sparkles and all.

"I've managed to have you placed under my command, Hawkeye," Roy said before popping a piece of turkey into his mouth.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes," he wiped his mouth with his napkin. "And I plan on requesting you as my aide."

"I'm flattered, sir."

"I've even managed to get Havoc transferred, too," he grinned.

"Well, thanks, Chief," Jean said through a mouthful of sweet potatoes. "That's some good news for the holiday."

"I thought so," Roy agreed.

"I'm glad to be able to stay with you, sir," Riza said, carefully folding her napkin. "You, too, Lieutenant Havoc," she added, an afterthought.

Havoc sighed, already confirming his suspicions about where he stood in Riza's mind. He was there and he was important, but he wasn't Roy Mustang.

This theory was quickly confirmed as they both reached for the last dinner roll, Mustang's hand brushing hers.

"Oh, you go ahead, sir," she said, retracting her hand.

"Oh, no, no, no, ladies first, Lieutenant," he insisted, holding it out to her.

This polite bickering continued for a few moments before Roy ended it. "Here, we'll split it," and he tore it apart, delicately placing the larger half in her hand.

Havoc realized then, that, as the food they so amiably shared, they were merely two halves to a whole. It wasn't just the way she looked at him, the way he looked at her, or the blush that spread their cheeks when they'd bumped hands, but something bigger than anything he could comprehend.

He never even had a chance.

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_602 words.  
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	71. Betrayal

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: I can't wait for NaNo to be over so I can actually read fic now. Seriously. I'm in withdrawal. :(

* * *

**Theme 13 :: Betrayal**

Mustang had given Hawkeye his back to watch. To watch his back, he'd said, gave her the perfect opportunity to shoot him from behind, to betray him.

It was an interesting thing to bring up, she thought, particularly with her. Perhaps he felt he'd betrayed her trust, abused the back she'd entrusted to him. It was an easy assumption to make, after her heartfelt speech before leaving Ishbal. She didn't regret giving him the secrets of flame alchemy – she could never deny him anything, not with those eyes, so piercing and knowing – but only that she hadn't stopped him from using that power.

Did he really think she wasn't above retribution?

It was their first full day in the office, and he was already slacking off on paperwork. She glanced over at him, obsessively cleaning the windows, and wondered what he'd been thinking when he'd said that. They were just words, simple ordinary words, but they plagued her like no words ever had before. Betrayal was never something she thought they'd have to worry about. Not them.

More interestingly, though, was that he'd given her permission to betray him.

If he strayed off the path, she was to shoot him, and shoot to kill. She had the permission and skill, and was granted the power of judgment. He'd given her more than his back to watch, more than the opportunity to kill him – she was the one to gauge his success.

Perhaps that conversation hadn't been about betrayal at all.

She looked up at him once more, fingers running through her short hair. "Sir, that paperwork's not going to do itself."

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_275 words.  
_


	72. Death

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

* * *

**Theme 6 :: Death**

It was another pointlessly long car ride, on their way to tend to some business in a neighboring town. Mustang had his cheek in his hand, gazing out the window – Hawkeye had already berated him for staring at her so, and he'd had to resort to this – and Hawkeye was focused on the road ahead, steering wheel grasped firmly in both hands.

He looked over suddenly. "Lieutenant, what do you think of death?"

Her eyebrows raised a little, but her attention stayed on the road. "I think that was a very dreary start to a conversation, sir."

"It was an honest question, Hawkeye. What do you think of death?"

She shifted, perhaps a bit uncomfortably, but with her you could never quite tell, and spoke, "I'm not entirely sure, Colonel. Even after Ishbal, I don't know what to think of it." Her voice gained a quiet, remorseful quality as she continued, "No matter how many times I've dealt it out."

He frowned. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's fine. Like you said, it's an honest question. We're soldiers, after all. It's something we're well acquainted with."

He remained silent for a moment, then, "Do you fear death, Lieutenant?"

She glanced over this time, but it was brief, fleeting. "I do not welcome it, sir. I feel that no-one's life should be taken lightly, that we all have meaning. But," she paused, and added softly, "I'd die for you without a second thought."

He frowned, unsure of how to respond, one hand wiping over his face as he gathered his thoughts. "Do you really think that wise, Hawkeye?"

"It's my job," she said simply.

"Oh," he replied lamely, defeated and a little disappointed.

His silence unnerved her a little and she glanced over tentatively. "What about you, sir? What do you think of death?"

He seemed to consider his fingernails for a moment. "I think I deserve it."

"Colonel –"

"I have killed thousands of people, Lieutenant. Probably more." He nodded slightly and once more looked out the window. "I deserve to die."

"Please don't say such things, sir," she said, jaw set.

"I still don't understand it," he whispered, examining his hands, turning them over and over again. "Kimbley . . . I can't even remember their faces. Not all of them. I probably didn't even see half of them." He looked up at her suddenly. "Do you think they're all remembered, Lieutenant? By someone?"

"I don't know, sir," she breathed. "But, if you want retribution, you should continue to reach for the top, and not seek death."

"I know."

"Why did you bring this up anyways?" she asked, a little annoyed at having the wounds reopened.

"I was just speaking what was on my mind," he sighed. "I'm always thinking of death."

She hesitated. "Are you afraid of it?"

He let out a short, mirthless laugh. "You have no idea. I deserve death, but I can't even pull the trigger."

She put her foot on the break suddenly and pulled off to the side of the road.

". . . Hawkeye?"

No reply.

". . . Riza?"

"Permission to speak and act freely, sir?"

"Permission granted," he frowned.

She turned and swiftly slapped him across the face, before putting the car back in gear and continuing along as if nothing had even happened.

He rubbed his reddening cheek a little, making a mental note never to engage in a physical fight with his first lieutenant.

"If you ever do that again," she said, no-nonsense as always. "I will bring you back and personally skin you alive, do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

The ride continued in silence for a while until he ventured, "You know, Lieutenant, if Death was a human, it would be a woman."

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_635 words.  
_


	73. Are you satisfied?

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.

Author's Note: Not sure what I think of this. Oh, well, it's helping me keep up on completion. More one-sided Havoc/Hawkeye? I don't know. I guess you could interpret it that way, but I see it as very platonic in this. Or at least that was my intention. **  
**

* * *

**Theme 69 :: Are you satisfied?**

"Is he going to be all right?"

"We don't know yet. It's still pretty touch and go. We'll see. Don't lose hope."

"Of course not. May I see him?"

"I don't see why not. Just be careful of your wounds and remember to get some rest. You're no good to him sick."

"I know. Thank you."

Riza Hawkeye slipped into the dark room unnoticed and waited as her eyes adjusted to the dim light supplied by the bedside monitors. "Damn it, Mustang, if I had a dollar for every time I've stood next to your hospital bed . . ." she left it at that, approaching his side and pulling up a chair.

True to the doctor's words, he wasn't in very good shape. She wished she could remember what happened, how she'd wound up taking three bullets to the side, how he'd wound up stuck full of shrapnel. But it all went so fast and the next thing she remembered was Havoc petting back her hair and telling her as gently as possible that they hadn't been able to wake Roy, and they weren't sure if he'd ever regain consciousness.

Needless to say, she was out of bed as soon as she and Havoc had managed to figure out the IV drip, tearing through the hospital looking for her colonel.

"What am I supposed to do now?" she said bitterly. "We never really planned for this. It was always the lot of us, or at least you and I. It was always about _you_ and we didn't mind, but where does that leave us now? Do we just give up and wait for you to pull your act together or . . ."

She let out a quiet, sharp cry of pain and clutched her side for a moment, waiting for it to pass.

Roy did not even stir.

"You told me that if you ever strayed off your path, I had permission to shoot and kill you. What would you consider this? Just a vacation?" she spat, the pain medication making her mind and body go numb. "I can't shoot you now, not like this. Hell, I could never shoot you, didn't you know that?"

She let out a weary yawn, too overcome with exhaustion to keep up her defenses, too drug-impaired to think about her actions, and leaned forward, arms folded on his bed, head pillowed there. "Are you satisfied?" she mumbled. "You left . . . me . . ." she never finished the sentence, carried away by a welcoming slumber.

When Havoc finally found her, she was nearly falling off the chair, heavy with sleep. He came over, carefully pulling her hair over to one side as he wrapped her in a blanket, fearing she'd catch a chill. It was then he noticed their hands were so close together, Hawkeye's and Mustang's, separated by only a few centimeters, her fingers tensing and relaxing through whatever dreams the medicine had induced.

He only felt it right to move Roy's hand to cover hers.

"You've got a real catch here, Chief. Don't let her go."

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_524 words.  
_


	74. The Scent of Blood

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA. And the dialogue between Lust and Riza at the end isn't mine either.

Author's Note: More chapter 39. I don't know why, but I wound up really liking this despite hating it when I started. There's mention of hops in there, and I just had to slip it in - I go to school in the same town as the Coors brewery, so it ALWAYS smells like hops, so it was the first analogy I could come up with. Oh well. Enjoy.**  
**

* * *

**Theme 15 :: The Scent of Blood**

It was that smell again.

That smell that made her nostrils flare and bile rise in her throat, that made her hands shake and her eyes go wide, that made her feel like an animal on the hunt, the prey not far away.

She remembered it from Ishbal.

It was a common thing there, the same way one grows accustomed to smelling hops penetrate the air around a brewery, or that smell puppies always seemed to have, that puppy-scent, and how you could always tell when one was near a pet store, or perhaps when her own Black Hayate was close. Puppies to pet stores, hops to breweries and blood to Ishbal. It was all the same.

She'd almost grown accustomed to it in the war, breathing it in like it was nothing, just another ambient scent swirling about the ruins of Ishbalan cities. It was only when they'd left that she realized how sickeningly familiar she was with it. Her first gulp of fresh air had sent her falling dizzyingly against Roy, where he put his hands on her shoulders, keeping her steady as she took slow, deep breaths before regaining her footing.

She could remember it strongest from that time she'd been shot, and Roy had been the only one there to dig the bullet out, to tear his shirt to shreds for bandages. It had been all over her hands, sticky and thick as he pulled her against him, speaking softly to her to keep her awake. She couldn't remember what he'd said then, she could only remember the blood. The blood and his voice and his arms and his warmth. Had they really become that synonymous?

She'd know that scent anywhere.

That was why it was so unnerving. Barry's old body smelled of decomposition, another scent remembered from the war. But the scent of blood and the sent of rot were two wholly separate things, and she could easily distinguish them now. She lifted her head a little and sniffed, noticing the blood was some distance off, and fresh.

Her hands went immediately to her holsters, prepared for a battle.

That was when Lust appeared, infuriatingly smooth and beautiful and calm as ever. Riza could have punched her in the face right then, if it weren't for her discipline.

As Lust spoke and dealt with Barry, Riza continued to breathe in that smell, growing stronger, a cloud of it swirling around them, like a hurricane moving to encompass them in the eye of that gruesome storm.

The scent of blood was now mixed with the smell of searing flesh – a combination she'd grown all too familiar with having been with Roy in Ishbal. Roy . . . where was he?

"Who wants to go first? Iron boy? Or perhaps it should be you, First Lieutenant? You look like a very loyal officer. I'll let you follow your boss in no time."

The pieces clicked in her mind – Roy missing, the scent of blood. "Wait a minute . . . you said 'two human sacrifices in a night.' It can't be . . ." She couldn't help but feel tears sting her eyes as she sucked her lower lip between her teeth, biting back the despair and calling forth anger. "You didn't . . ." Her eyes went wide, only for a moment, before she set her jaw and took aim. "You bitch . . ." she breathed. "You bitch!"

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_580 words.  
_


	75. Liar

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Could be a lead-in to chapter 49 'Existence'. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 11 :: Liar**

"He's a damn liar," Roy said, standing drenched on Hawkeye's doorstep.

"Come in, sir," she stepped aside, closing the door behind him.

"Damn liar."

"Have a seat," she said, leading him into the kitchen, putting on some tea.

"Are you even listening, Lieutenant?"

"Of course, sir," she nodded, filling the kettle with water. "You were saying how Brigadier General Maes Hughes was a 'damn liar'."

"How did you know I was talking about Maes?"

She turned around, leaning against the counter a little, a light sigh escaping her lips. "Who else would you be talking about, sir?"

He shrugged uncomfortably, slipping out of his coat and hanging it on the back of his chair as she came to sit in front of him, head tilted sympathetically. They remained quiet for awhile, before she broke the silence, "Would you like to talk about it?"

"He promised he'd be there for me, pushing me to the top from below. He's not here anymore. And he's not under me. He's a damn liar."

"Sir," she said softly, reaching across the table to cover one of his hands with her own. "I know it's rough, but you're not alone. Please, don't act like we're invisible." She lowered her voice to a bare whisper, "Please, don't forget I'm here."

He opened his mouth to say something, but the kettle whistled and she retracted her hand to prepare the tea. In the midst of dropping tea bags into each mug, she looked over to see her commanding officer rubbing his hands up and down his arms to generate warmth. It was only then she noticed not only had his coat been soaked, but his shirt, too.

"Oh, you need to take off those wet clothes, sir," she said, hurrying to her bedroom. "I think I still have some of yours here."

He followed her, unbuttoning his shirt as he watched her rifle through her closet until she found what she was looking for. She went to hand him the fresh shirt, but was unnerved to find him taking a step closer to her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his wet flesh, his warm breath mingling with hers. His hands came up to cup her cheeks and she felt the article of clothing slipping from her grasp, falling lamely to their feet as her fingertips sought the exposed skin of his chest.

"Please," he whispered, eyes imploring. "I don't want to lose you, too."

She moved closer, palms trailing up his body to wrap around his neck, nose sliding tentatively against his, as she felt her body trembling, tingling with anticipation. "This isn't fraternization," she breathed. "It's only against the rules if there's feelings involved." She nuzzled her nose against his cheek. "This is not fraternization," she said firmly.

He closed the gap, claiming her in a needy kiss, causing her to moan into him before he broke away. "Liar," he muttered, taking her completely in his arms as he steered her towards the bed.

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506 words. 


	76. Tomorrow, Too

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

* * *

**Theme 96 :: Tomorrow, Too**

"You're still here," Roy said, voice thick with sleep, as he rolled over, slipping an arm about Riza's waist and squeezing her tightly.

"Of course, I am," she whispered, fingertips brushing his bangs, sticky and firm with dried sweat, from his face.

"I dreamt," he mumbled, "I dreamt that you . . . like Hughes, you . . ."

"Sh," she soothed, guiding his head to rest on her shoulder, fingers threading through his hair. "I'm here, see? I'm not going anywhere."

The sun was just beginning to filter in, hues of orange and red just glowing on the horizon. The sheets were in a lump at their feet, and they sought warmth in each other, burrowing under the thick comforter. In the dim light, she could see his face – stubble on his baby soft curves, dark circles rimming his eyes. She imagined she didn't look much better, having been up with him until maybe a few hours ago. But those were her burdens to bear, not his.

It had started as it usually did, a romantic exploration, full of moans and sighs and pleasure, but had taken quite the unexpected turn. He was one of those rare men that actually enjoyed pillow talk, sweet nothings told between hand holdings and sweet kisses. She couldn't remember what she'd said to provoke such a reaction, but soon they were discussing the past.

The past was always a difficult subject for them, from her sudden harsh upbringing after her mother's death, to the array etched on her back, to the devastating act of burning said array, to Ishbal, to Hughes . . .

It was a discussion long in the making, but it plagued them now, for it made them realize their lives were fleeting, fragile things, and they could very easily be ripped from one another without any other warning. It was far easier to come to terms with this on the battlefield than lying warm in bed in his apartment.

She'd woken up to him calling her name in his sleep, tossing restlessly from side to side, the nightmare driving him to a cold sweat.

"Go back to sleep," she whispered, pulling the covers more snugly about them. "It's still early."

His hand sought hers and she took it, twining their fingers, examining the light scars on his skin – that familiar array now branded to both their bodies, linking them forever. "Work?"

"We've still got a couple hours," she brushed a kiss to the top of his head. "And I might let you be just a little late. Just this once."

He groaned a little and cuddled closer to her, inhaling the scent of her sweat and shampoo. "Wow, feeling generous today, Lieutenant?"

"Just go back to sleep, sir. You look terrible."

"Will you still be here?" he asked quietly, hand tightening around hers.

"Of course," she replied, closing her eyes as well, feeling his limbs twitching against her as his body readied for sleep.

"Tomorrow, too?"

"Tomorrow, too," she agreed.

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_506 words.  
_


	77. Hidden Expressions Hidden Feelings

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Edited to fix some typos.**  
**

* * *

**Theme 90 :: Hidden Expressions/Hidden Feelings**

Roy and Riza spend their days skirting around what they both know is there.

When he spends his time doing anything but working on his paperwork, he's really just trying to get her attention, the way a puppy or child misbehaves when feeling neglected. It's true, he doesn't like paperwork – it's boring and pointless, just some meaningless task posing as an obstacle between him and his goal. But as annoying and boring as it is, he avoids it more so she'll notice. He gets gratification from the sound of her voice, and what better way to hear it than give her something to be annoyed at?

And so, when he does his paperwork, he enjoys the way their fingers brush in passing it back and forth, the way their eyes meet for just a moment, before they both look away, hiding whatever had been betrayed there.

Similarly, she hides behind her romance novels – giving a firm glare to anyone who dares remark on her choice of genre, mind you – eyes darting in his direction every now and then, mind wandering. Perchance their eyes meet, she quickly covers whatever emotion she conveys with her thick copy, raised higher than entirely necessary. He knows what she's thinking then, and she fears that he does.

But they go along and pretend they don't, for the sake of their country. Passing meaningless paperwork back and forth, accompanied by meaningful looks and touches. Perhaps a few words, both inconsequential and momentous, reverberating in the air between them.

When she stands over his shoulder to make sure he's doing his work correctly, she's never really worried he'll make a mistake, and certainly not interested in the mundane details of his duties as a state alchemist, she just enjoys being close to him. The space between them is charged, magnetizing them, drawing them together. But their wills are strong and they continue to live behind their masks – dignified expressions, salutes and nods – and resist this mutual attraction, standing firm.

The men know what's there; they can see it more each day, noticing how their gazes linger just a tad longer than they had the day before, how she grew to melt a little at his touch, instead of startle, how her lips, usually so straight and set, begin to quirk up at the corners, not quite a smile, but close enough. They can tell, and they're sure it's there.

Grumman offers Roy his granddaughter's hand in marriage, and he smiles politely, waving it off uncomfortably, not yet knowing that said fabled granddaughter is none other than the woman who caused him to say no in the first place. The old man merely laughs, amused at this charade.

And Roy returns to his office, where she prods at him to do his work, and he watches her read her romance novel, masks in place once more.

Yes, everything they do is merely a façade, a ruse to hide what they'll always show, and yet never tell.

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_504 words.  
_


	78. Words that Fade Away in the Chaos

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Originally this set-up (though they were younger) I had for 'Tomorrow, Too'. But decided against it and set it later in their lives for this.**  
**

* * *

**Theme 82 :: Words that Fade Away in the Chaos**

The roaring inferno echoed in his ears as he was frozen to the spot, staring horrified at the burning bodies around him. He tried to move, willing his legs to leave this place, but he couldn't. The only part of his body that was granted movement was his left hand, snapping over and over and over again of its own volition, flames erupting around him, sending scorching heat to his face. His lips were greasy with melting body fat and he could feel the bile rising suddenly in his throat. It was all he could do not to scream and retch and collapse, just staring blindly ahead.

Was this Hell? He'd always heard it would be like this – blazing flames and his worst nightmares, his worst memories . . . his greatest sins. Yes, this must have been his own personal Hell.

But he didn't believe in Hell.

Though, he thought, if there was a Hell, it would be just like this. It would be just like Ishbal.

He could hear something, at the edge of his mind, calling. Was that his name? The voice was familiar, he thought, seeping into the edges of his consciousness, barely audible through the mayhem. He couldn't be sure, but he wanted beyond all else to be saved from this horrid place. His senses had grown dull, unable to distinguish anything from this torture. All he knew was the smell of searing flesh enveloping him.

* * *

"Colonel," Riza said, fingertips trailing down his cheek. "Sh, Colonel, wake up . . ."

He was hot with fever, shivering and whimpering with nightmares. She dipped the washcloth in the basin once more, soaking it in the cool water before wringing it out, stroking his face with it, trying in vain to cool him down. He would be fine, she knew, he always was. But it killed her to see him so weak.

She hated when he was sick. Not just because he was either whining or in pain, or that, like now, he wouldn't let on until the illness had completely incapacitated him, but because the only way to get better from anything was to rest, and resting meant sleeping, and for Roy Mustang, sleep meant nightmares.

Worst of all, she could never manage to wake him when he was like this.

"Roy, please, it's okay, just wake up," she whispered, invoking his given name, in hopes that might produce better results. She continued blotting at his forehead with her cool compress. The day passed much like this – he trapped in a feverish, nightmarish sleep, writhing under the covers, inconsolable, and she, ever patient, sitting beside him, easing his fiery hot skin and running ice cubes over his lips, waiting for the fever to break. She continued to call out to him, gentle urges to return from the world of nightmares at least for a moment, but he couldn't hear her. It just seemed that her words were fading away in the chaos of his mind.

* * *

_510 words.  
_


	79. Someone I Want to Protect

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA or the first four lines of dialogue.

Author's Note: A sort of alternate portion to the scene in Chapter 58 'Footsteps of Ruin'.

* * *

**Theme 23 :: Someone I Want to Protect**

Taking apart the gun, Riza held up a part and examined it thoughtfully, turning it over in her fingers. "You have to worry and scrabble around in that way and even if it looks uncool," she said, "you have to survive." She looked up at Ed, fixing his gaze. "For the person important to you as well. Protect her."

Ed's eyes widened suddenly as he brought his mug to his lips. "Eh?"

"You love Winry, don't you?" she clarified, voice even as always, as she continued work on the gun, watching her own skilled hands run over the smooth metal.

Ed choked on his tea and coughed some out (poor Hayate happening to be in the line of fire). "H-h-how . . . th-th-that . . . she's just a childhood frie . . . like family!" he stuttered. "I mean, of course I'd protect her or whatever, but!"

Riza, though a little startled, couldn't help but smile inwardly, amused at Edward's apparent weakness to bluntness.

He suddenly became calm, eyeing her skeptically. "Wait, you said 'as well', are you saying . . . ?"

"Yes," she replied softly, fingers working faster now with the weapon. "There is someone I, too, want to protect."

"Colonel Bastard . . ." he said in awe, the pieces falling into place. "That explains a lot."

She looked up suddenly. "How so?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "He's just so . . . egotistical and cheeky and . . ."

"And obnoxious and lazy and manipulative," she finished for him, offering him the hint of a smile. "But he's also kind and ambitious and selfless and . . ." she trailed off, eyes falling back to the firearm, lying in pieces on the table before her.

"You love him, don't you?"

She laughed briefly, not looking up. "You expect me to answer something like that when you couldn't do the same for me?" She snapped the last component into place and added, "And," she brandished the unloaded gun at him, "at least your answer won't get you court-martialed."

"Point taken," he said, a little nervously, palms spread in a gesture of surrender as Hayate hopped onto his lap, apparently forgiving him for the impromptu bath.

"And plus," she said, setting the cloth and gun aside, pulling the warm mug of tea between her chilled palms, "I think we both know the answers."

Ed nodded. "So you being the Fuhrer's secretary," he reasoned, scratching the dog behind the ears. "They're using you the same way they're using Winry, aren't they? Only for the colonel?"

"I believe so. The entire team has been separated, but they put me directly under Bradley. At least the men are reasonably 'safe'."

"So they know?" Ed frowned.

Riza shrugged, "They have no proof, but even I'll admit we're a tad . . . suspicious. And there were enough rumors during Ishbal." She took a sip of her tea.

He perked up at the mention of the war, and asked tentatively, "Lieutenant, about Ishbal . . ."

* * *

_514 words.  
_


	80. Gunshot

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

* * *

**Theme 2 :: Gunshot**

_Bang!_

It was a very familiar sound to Riza Hawkeye, the sound of a gunshot. More often than not she was the cause of that sound, echoing in her ears as vibrations made their way up her arms, from palms to shoulders.

It was comforting in a way. It made her feel in control, able to protect herself and her loved ones, giving her some sort of leverage on the situation, a choice whether she would live or die. She had the courage to pull the trigger, and that made all the difference.

It was a very familiar sound, indeed.

_Bang!_

She flinched, fingers twitching, as if pulling a trigger.

That was not a gunshot, as much as she felt it was; it was only thunder.

She was sitting up in bed, in an inn in Risembool, having accompanied Mustang in search of the Elric brothers. They were both a little agitated at what they'd found, and more than a little unnerved, and more than anything they just wanted to get back to some real civilization, but the train wouldn't be by for a couple days yet.

She found her eyes wandering to the door, knowing he was just across the hall, and, knowing him, either caught in a nightmare or awake. She would only be doing him a favor by paying him a visit.

Two loud clashes of thunder later, she was pulling on a robe and slippers, heading across the hall and knocking on his door.

It didn't take him long to answer the door, pajama-clad and running a hand through his disheveled hair. It seemed he'd been trying to sleep, and failing miserably. "Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

"Sir," she saluted – quite the hilarious image in her nightie and fuzzy slippers.

He looked at her sympathetically. "Thunder?"

"Yes, sir," she admitted, relaxing a bit.

"Come on in," and he ushered her inside, indicating she sit on the sofa where he soon joined her, handing her a glass of water. "I couldn't sleep either," he admitted.

She nodded, taking a sip, staring ahead blankly, too exhausted for any real intelligent conversation, but too jumpy to sleep.

_Bang!_

She flinched, water splashing over the edge of her glass, conveniently landing on Roy. "Oh, I'm sorry," she quickly apologized. "I just . . ."

"Hey, it's okay," he said softly, taking her drink from her and setting it aside with his. "It's just water."

She smiled slightly at the irony of this – he being the Flame Alchemist and all – and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing up and down.

"It reminds you of Ishbal, doesn't it? Of gunshots?"

She nodded, eyes downcast. "I can't sleep with the thunder. I'm not afraid, I just . . ."

He cut her off, "I know."

_Bang!_

Her hand instantly reached for her thigh, and it was only then he realized she was probably armed, even now.

He carefully slipped an arm around her stiff shoulders, pulling her against him, urging her to relax. "It's looking like neither of us is getting any sleep tonight, Hawkeye."

"So it seems," she agreed, settling her head against his shoulder. "Sir?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

_Bang!_

* * *

_529 words.  
_


	81. Battlefield

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: . . . I don't even know where to start with this one. It just sort of happened. It is random, borderline sappy and . . . out there. Brought about by some reviews for Home Cooking, but I am too exhausted to look up who said so, I think it was Causmicfire or Bizzy. So kudos to you guys and uh . . . going to bed. Just wanted to squeeze another in tonight.

* * *

**Theme 3 :: Battlefield**

He'd been through Ishbal with her. He'd seen the way her eyes narrowed in battle, how she was solely concentrated on the fight – her target, her aim, her stance. She had certain mannerisms unique to the battlefield.

And she was displaying them right now.

He should have known better.

He _really _should have known better.

But in all honesty, he couldn't really help it.

She'd just been standing there, lecturing him as she waved a thoroughly frosting'd spatula in his face. A bowl full of said frosting sat in front of her, within arms' reach. It was just too perfect an opportunity to pass up.

He reached out, scooped up a glob of chocolate frosting in his first two fingers, and promptly wiped it on her cheek.

He hadn't seen that look on her face since Hayate first chewed on one of her boots, and for a moment, he was afraid she'd be pulling out a gun and going a little trigger happy. But no, stoic as ever, she turned to her mixing bowl, covered her hand entirely in the same frosting, and smeared it all over his face.

At first, this seemed like it would be a fun adventure, perhaps a little on the kinky side and he'd be able to check another fantasy off the list.

What he didn't realize then, was that when Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye fought, she meant_war._

It wasn't long before the entire kitchen was the likes of a battlefield, the two combatants covered in cake batter and frosting, powdered thoroughly with flour.

"I surrender!" Roy cried, holding up his hands as he dodged a wooden spoon flying his direction.

She sighed in relief and began cleaning up the mess.

He frowned, "That's it?"

"That's what?"

"That's it? I surrender and you just start cleaning?"

"Well, the kitchen's a mess, sir. It needs to be cleaned." One thing you could count on with Hawkeye – she was always practical. "And plus, this place looks worse than the parade grounds after you and Edward had your little tantrum."

"Tantrum?" he gaped.

"Your little brawl was pretty personal, sir," she pointed out.

He grumbled something and went to find the broom. When he returned, he found her scrubbing at her cheek with a dishtowel, not particularly successful in removing the sticky sweet substance there.

He should have learned his lessons earlier; should have learned not to give into temptation so easily, but he just couldn't help but come up behind her and wrap an arm around her waist, chin settling comfortably on her shoulder, nose buried in floury and sugary hair.

When she turned to kiss him – a sweet, chocolaty affair – he realized that this was merely the start of a whole new war, and he couldn't help but smirk as she maneuvered him in the general direction of the bedroom, the broom tumbling to the floor in their wake.

The bedroom, he thought, was a battlefield he was far more comfortable in.

* * *

_500 words.  
_


	82. Murderer

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Ahhhh! Almost done! I can't wait. Cos then I'll be able to write that other Royai fic I've been formulating, and update some of my other stuff, and that D. Gray-man one-shot . . . man, I want to write that one-shot. I've been rereading it and it is so much love omg. Anyways, here you go.

* * *

**Theme 20 :: 'Murderer'**

"I'm a murderer," he said suddenly.

Riza looked up from her paperwork, concerned. "Sir?"

"I'm a murderer," he repeated, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "A murderer."

The dim light around them made this conversation all the more eerie, having stayed late to finish some paperwork, left only with the two lamps on their desks. His face was unreadable from here, obscured by shadow. She felt she should be saying something along the lines of 'no, you're not' or 'how could you say such a thing?'

But instead, she found the words "Me, too," slipping out of her mouth.

He opened his mouth to say something, but found he could only nod. There was no contesting the fact they were murderers, as much as they wanted to pretend what they'd done had merely been following orders, they could never say it aloud.

They could never lie to each other like that.

She tried to avoid the uncomfortable silence that followed by resuming her paperwork, shuffling papers distractedly as he remained silent and thoughtful at his desk, his own work long forgotten in front of him. This continued for some time; the air thick with tension as she worked and he procrastinated – the usual combination.

"Lieutenant?" he ventured quietly.

She looked up to find him turning his gloves over in his fingers, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the rough fabric. She set down her pen and leaned forward a bit, hoping this wouldn't be as morbid as their last attempt at conversation. "Yes, sir?"

"Who could love a murderer?" he asked bluntly.

She frowned, considering this question. "I don't know, sir. Perhaps the real question is, how can we love and . . . touch another person with bloodstained hands like ours?"

"Quite the point, Hawkeye," he nodded, examining his own palms thoughtfully, the same familiar red stains there – marks only he could see.

"Now, Colonel, shouldn't you be doing your paperwork?" she said, picking up her pen and waving it at him threateningly.

He sighed and set his gloves down, returning to the threatening mountain of paperwork before him. "You drive a hard bargain, Lieutenant."

Hours passed, and their stacks of paperwork had decreased significantly in height. A few glances at the clock told Riza it was already well past midnight and they were still nowhere near done. She came over and handed him a cup of coffee, taking the completed forms for filing. She was halfway out the door when he suddenly said, "You never answered my question, Hawkeye."

"Sir?"

" 'Who could love a murderer?' You never gave me a definitive answer."

She stopped, still facing away from him, and seemed to consider her answer for a moment, rearranging the stack of papers in her hands, rustling. She took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at him. "I think, sir, that the only person who could love a murderer, is one who has blood on their hands as well."

* * *

_501 words.  
_


	83. Repentance Confession

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: This could go with 'God', too, but oh, well. Sort of random Ishbal fic. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 21 :: Repentance/Confession**

"I thought you didn't believe in God."

Roy turned his head swiftly, finding none other than Riza Hawkeye standing behind him, setting her sniper rifle down and taking off her cloak.

"This is the last place I'd think to find you," she said softly.

He merely turned his gaze back to his clasped hands, knuckles white and clenched. She took the opportunity to slip into the pew next to him, hands folded delicately in her lap – such a harsh contrast against the dirt and grime over her uniform.

They sat in silence for some time, nothing else needing to be said. The light came filtering in through the stained glass windows, colors playing at their feet, amidst all the rubble. She wasn't quite sure what she believed; she wasn't sure how any god could let something like the Ishbal massacre happen. But here she was, sitting with a superior officer in a half destroyed church. It wasn't an Ishbalan church, though they were in Ishbal. It was Amestrian – a result of cultural blending along the border.

He looked ragged, to say the least, his hair caked with blood and dirt and sweat, face unshaven, eyes tired and bloodshot. The last time she'd seen him had been three days ago – only a day after their reunion. She'd managed to locate Hughes, but even he had no idea where the charismatic 'Major Flame' had wandered off to, and it was in searching for him that she'd stumbled across this dilapidated building.

"Why did you come here?" he asked quietly, head still bowed, the slump of his shoulders showing the strain of war.

She raised her eyebrows a little. "I was looking for you."

He glanced up at her, seeing straight through her little white lie. "But you didn't come _here_ with me in mind," he indicated the pews and altar for emphasis.

She remained silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the palms of her hands, then confessed, "I killed a child today. She was my first."

"I set fire to a school," he replied.

"She was carrying a teddy bear," she said. "And wearing a lavender dress and pigtails. I'll never forget her eyes."

"I was sick," he told her. "I vomited there on the side of the road, right in front of everybody. Twice."

"I cried," she whispered.

"Me, too." He reached over and put a hand on hers, his fingers hot like fire.

"Is that why you came here?" she asked quietly.

"I've heard that if you confess, God will forgive your sins," he said. "But when I got here, I realized not even God could forgive the things I've done. Even if I believed. Even if He really existed."

"I don't believe," she muttered, turning her hand over to clasp his. "Because no supreme benevolent being would have let this happen."

"So here we are," he sighed. "Two atheists in a more or less religious war, confessing to a god that may or may not exist."

* * *

_502 words.  
_


	84. Not There

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Sort of sad. Not quite sure what I think of it, but I'm close to 45,000 words! Yay!

* * *

**Theme 24 :: "Not There"**

They always had dinner at the Hughes' house for special occasions. Always. Even if it wasn't the precise date due to differences in location, or if they had other plans (for her birthday and Valentine's Day, he always liked to give her a special candlelit dinner for two, but of course, Maes and Gracia couldn't know that), they always had a meal with Maes, Gracia and Elysia to make up for it. They'd never be able to have a real family of their own, at least not at the rate things were going now, and this was the closest thing they had – being Uncle Roy and Auntie Riza to the most adorable girl in Amestris.

It was the day before his birthday, and the special dinner at the Hughes' was still on, despite recent circumstances.

Roy sat on the edge of the bed, shirt untucked and unbuttoned, as if he'd gotten distracted halfway through dressing. He had an old photo in his hands. He never really liked the picture – he felt he looked odd in it (perhaps constipated, Riza had supplied, to which he'd quickly swatted her away), and he was so young then. It had been taken after his first year in the Academy – he and Maes. Maes, of course, was grinning ear to ear, being his usual foolish self, and Roy almost felt he'd leap out of the piece of paper to gush about exactly how cute Elysia was.

"Sir?" Riza poked her head out of the bathroom and frowned.

He didn't respond.

She came in, clad only in her robe, ruffling her hair dry with a towel. "Colonel?"

He looked up at her, startling out of his reverie. "Oh, hi, Riza."

Sitting down beside him, she glanced at the photo. "You two look very handsome there, you know."

He snorted. "Handsome? I thought you said I looked constipated."

The corners of her mouth turned upwards in a small smile as she fingered his hair lightly. "Perhaps both."

After a moment, he spoke quietly, "This is the first . . ."

"I know," she cut him off, looping her arm around his. "I know." She leaned her cheek against his shoulder, free arm snaking about his waist, under the open shirt. "We're going to be late," she said after awhile, moving to the closet to find a specific dress – one she recalled Maes being quite fond of.

With one last glance at the photograph, Roy set it back on the bedside table and finished getting dress, watching Riza out of the corner of his eye. She came over briefly to help him with his tie while he combed his fingers through her hair. In the foyer, he pulled on his coat and secured his pocket watch, then helped Riza into hers. It was a surprisingly solemn affair, considering they were preparing for a birthday celebration. But of course, everything had been solemn since that day.

"This is the first time," he said, leading her outside, "that Maes won't be there."

* * *

_507 words.  
_


	85. Dog

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: First off, please don't kill me for this. It's sugary sweet. Might give you cavities. Just very happy. Don't know where it came from. Also, could go with themes 'Day Off' and 'A Walk'. I find it funny that half the time, my one-shots are applicable to multiple things. Hmm interesting.

* * *

**Theme 36 :: Dog**

It was a nice spring day – warm and sunny. What made it even nicer was that it was Riza Hawkeye's day off, and everyone knew that was a particularly rare occurrence. The problem was, she hadn't had a day off that didn't involve groceries or reanimated suits of armor in so long, she had no idea how to spend her time.

At first, she'd tried soaking in the bath, but that proved to be a tad boring.

Then, she tried reading her newest romance novel, but it wasn't as much fun without the men snickering at her choice in reading material.

But when Black Hayate came up to her, toy in hand, ready to play, she knew just how to spend the remainder of her day off.

So there they were, Hayate trotting along on his leash while Riza strolled leisurely behind him, taking in the picturesque scene at the park. Cliché, children playing, teens playing sports, skating and skateboarding, some old ladies feeding the pigeons, old men playing chess; nothing out of the ordinary. She bought an ice cream cone and sat on a bench to eat it, Hayate's leash tied firmly to the leg so he could romp around a bit.

They were just continuing their walk when Hayate let out a series of excited barks and ran ahead (inadvertently tugging Riza along a little faster than she'd have liked), sniffing at a man's shoes. The man leaned down and patted the dog on the head, commenting on how he'd always liked dogs before standing erect once more, offering the dog owner a familiar smirk. "Funny seeing you here, Lieutenant."

She snapped a firm salute, "Colonel Mustang!"

His smirk melted into a small smile. "Drop the formalities, Hawkeye, we're both off duty."

She nodded and he gestured for her to continue walking, him tagging alongside her, hands in pockets.

"Enjoying your day off?"

"Yes, sir. But I am finding it rather boring."

"It's a good day for a walk, though," he nodded.

They continued on for awhile in a companionable silence, Hayate scampering about, chasing butterflies and the occasional squirrel, sniffing all the new smells to be had in the park.

They were just about to go their separate ways when the dog caught sight of a particularly lovely butterfly, let out a loud _arf!_ and set off after it.

Now, this wouldn't have been much of a problem, had the butterfly decided simply to fly away. Instead, it chose to tease poor Hayate, and fly around in circles. That was the trouble with leashes, Riza thought in the split second before it happened, it was very easy to get tangled up in them.

The leash wound tightly around their legs and pulled them together. Riza reached her arms out in front of her for balance, and found herself hugging Roy Mustang snugly around the waist.

She looked up at him.

He looked down at her.

A light blush spread over her cheeks, barely visible, and he almost wondered if it was really there.

He grinned.

It was then that an old woman, who had previously been feeding some pigeons nearby, smiled and asked them when the wedding was.

They hastily broke apart and went their separate ways.

* * *

_544 words.  
_


	86. Match

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: I don't particularly like this one, but I'll forgive myself for it considering it was written early early this morning while I was waiting for my friend to come over and get his coffee fix. Needless to say this was written on a whole lot of lack of sleep. I like the idea, but I just had issues getting it down in words. Ah well, December is for revisions, is it not? I've got a list. And yay, I've officially hit 45,000! I'm so close I can taste it. ;) Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 37 :: Match**

When Roy Mustang was promoted to colonel, many people saw fit to give him presents with their congratulations. There were the many women who tried to offer him IOUs for dates and the like (which he quickly tore to bits, feeling that was bordering on something he wasn't particularly comfortable with), the many friends who took him out for drinks and of course their wives who sent him an assortment of baked goods.

One evening, the men gone, he sat finishing up some paperwork with his now first lieutenant, both looking wistfully at the clock from time to time.

The door swung open and an old man with glasses and a funny mustache walked inside, carrying a large bag.

"General Grumman, sir!" Riza saluted, and Roy soon followed.

The old man smiled. "I brought my two favorite officers some promotion gifts."

The three were soon seated around Mustang's desk, and Grumman procured a square box from his bag. "Now, this is for your office. Just another way for you and the men to slack off in your spare time."

Riza frowned, "Thank you so much for making my job easier, General."

"Anytime, Riza," the old man chuckled and Roy couldn't help but wonder when Grumman became on a first name basis with Hawkeye. Even he couldn't get away with that in the office. He opened the box to find a wooden chess board and pieces inside. "Thank you, sir."

The general quickly took command of the board and handed them each a smaller box. "And these are for the two of you, for well earned promotions both." He immediately began to set up the board, lining up the pieces in anticipation of a game. It quickly became evident that there were two very important black pieces missing – the king and the queen.

Roy opened his present and was a little confused to see the missing black king staring back at him.

Similarly, Riza cast the general an annoyed look when she pulled out the matching queen.

* * *

_340 words. Bonus points if you can tell me why I chose the black pieces.  
_


	87. Hair

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Past spoilers? Based loosely off of a real-life story my friend told me about her mother. **  
**

* * *

**Theme 44 :: Hair**

Riza Hawkeye first started reading romance novels when she was eight years old.

It was true that such books contained certain scenes little eyes should not see, but she was a bright girl, and already understood the workings of human anatomy with unrivaled maturity. And it wasn't the smut that drew her attention, but this little idea of love.

It was a beautiful notion, she thought, but she could not remember a time when she had any proof of it in this house. Sure, her father said he loved her, but he never really showed it, too absorbed in his studies. Perhaps that was love – her father and his alchemy.

She sighed and rolled over onto her back, lifting the book in the air to read it. The heroine had just cut off a lock of her own hair and given it to the hero as a sign of her undying devotion to him. That was a pretty idea, she thought, fingering her own chin-length hair.

It was three days later that she found herself knocking on her father's apprentice's door, a broad smile across her face.

The boy opened the door expecting to find his sensei there with corrections on his assignment, or perhaps some new reading material. What he didn't expect was a beaming little Riza, hand outstretched. She looked a little . . . off, he thought but quickly brushed the thought aside. "Riza?"

"For you, Mr. Mustang. A present."

It was then that he noticed in that tiny palm was a lock of golden hair, bound together with a single red ribbon, tied neatly in a bow. He looked back to her face, and beyond those bright amber eyes, a chunk of hair was missing on the side of her head.

Her father was furious.

He asked her angrily why she had done such a stupid thing as to cut her own hair, and she merely shrugged, toeing the floor guiltily, eyes downcast, and said it was just an accident with the scissors. "Just an accident," she repeated.

Roy stood nearby, her precious gift held firmly in his fist as he watched the exchange between father and daughter.

Hawkeye stormed out of the room, only to return a few minutes later, scissors in hand and demanded she sit down while he dealt with this mess.

The little girl bit back tears as her father clipped her hair, shorter than Roy's even, lecturing her about how she wouldn't be able to make such a 'stupid mistake' again.

Apparently, this incident loomed over her long after her father's death, or perhaps it was a tribute to his memory, for she kept her hair that way until well into womanhood. She was often mistaken for a boy, particularly in that hideous, shapeless uniform, but she didn't seem to mind.

It really was a stupid, childish thing, to cut her own hair like that. After all, she thought, romantic things like that never happened in real life.

What she didn't know was that the same lock of hair was still nestled safely in the folds of Roy's wallet.

* * *

_522 words.  
_


	88. Wind

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Past spoilers? Man, I am suddenly exhausted. Halfway through writing this I drifted off and I still feel bleh. Argh, just a few more days . . . anyways, no-one got the answer right to my question at the end of 'Match' - the reason I chose the black pieces is because, at the start of a chess game, the black queen is to the black king's right (the white queen is to the left), and we all know Riza's spot is on his right, the place of honor.

* * *

**Theme 43 :: Wind**

Riza padded downstairs, the old wood creaking under her bare feet as she went. Her fingers trailed down the banister and along the walls, guiding her through the darkness. As she neared the kitchen, she was a little startled to find a soft glow filtering into the hallway.

Shrugging her robe more tightly about herself, she slipped inside. "Mr. Mustang?"

The young man quickly spun around to face her, carton of milk in hand. "Couldn't sleep either?"

She shook her head and settled into a chair at the table.

"Would you like some hot cocoa?" he asked, turning back to the stove.

"Yes, please."

The wind picked up again, echoing loudly through the old house and they both tensed. Now twelve and fifteen, they'd long passed the age of being afraid of the wind itself, but the old Hawkeye house had a particular way of amplifying the sound, rattling all its contents. When they were younger she'd often slip into his room and they'd sit huddled together until the storm passed, but now they simply met in the kitchen, drank hot chocolate and talked, both extremely grateful her father slept like the dead.

"How's school?" he asked, stirring.

She shrugged, fingering a tear in the sleeve of her robe. "Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Classes are good; I've got good marks."

"But?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "The boys tease me a bit, that I'm not girly enough."

"Idiots," he said, pouring the now finished hot chocolate into two mugs. The wind picked up again and he muttered, "Damn wind," as he added whipped cream and marshmallows to both.

He slid her mug across to her and sat down at the table. She looked down and smirked upon finding a smiley face of marshmallows and whipped cream. "How are your studies?" she asked, continuing with the small talk.

"Good," he nodded, taking a gulp of the warm beverage. "Very good."

They sat, discussing the mundanities of their young lives well into the night, the wind wailing around them. In the morning, she'd once more be his sensei's untouchable daughter, and he would be Mr. Mustang – someone she was to respect, not befriend – but for now they were just Roy and Riza, like when they were children. It was nights like these, Roy thought, that maybe the wind wasn't all that bad after all.

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_393 words.  
_


	89. Quirks

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: RANDOM.

* * *

**Theme 67 :: Quirks**

Some would say annoying quirks were responsible for the ends of marriages and long term relationships. For Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye, however, they were what kept things pleasantly interesting.

For one, despite her strict personality, Riza is not particularly stern in the morning. No, she does not condone sleeping in excessively, but she's always kicking and prodding him to turn off the alarm, and has been known to be very fond of the snooze button (which quickly led to her setting the alarm ten minutes earlier than necessary).

Roy, despite proclaiming his love for dogs – in particular, Black Hayate – in the middle of the office, absolutely refuses to take his lieutenant's dog for walks. At least, not alone. For a seasoned war veteran, he proves surprisingly squeamish when it comes to cleaning up after a canine's, ah, 'business'.

In the evenings, coming home from work (Riza stopping by 'her' apartment first, as to avoid suspicions), she slips off her boots and coat and roams about their apartment sock-footed, gliding on the slick floors ever so slightly, and sometimes doing the same on the carpet (whereupon the next thing she touches – usually Roy – becomes subject to a sudden jolt of electricity).

At night, when he does manage to sleep, Roy is quite the acrobat. No, he doesn't steal the covers, at least no more than she does, but he tosses and turns, regardless of his dreams, and winds up in the most awkward of positions, leaving Riza to wonder exactly how she managed to sleep through such a riot. She threatened to tie him to the bed once, after she'd woken to find him with his head at the foot of the bed, snuggling into Hayate instead of her.

And there's the way she often forgets to remove at least one of her weapons before going to bed (that is, if they weren't otherwise occupied prior), giving him quite the fright when his hand, formerly trailing up and down her thigh, manages to bump into her favorite handgun.

And the way he always manages to break her favorite vase – one that had belonged to her mother – at least once a month, and is forced at gunpoint to fix it with alchemy, because of course, he couldn't break it at a convenient time, like when she's not there.

Their quirks were never their downfall; they just proved to make life a little more entertaining.

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_407 words.  
_


	90. Premonition

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Pride spoilers.

* * *

**Theme 71 :: Premonition**

It had been about a month since Pride had revealed himself to Riza Hawkeye. At first, his presence was like a weight on her, a ball and chain following her everywhere she went. But as time passed, she was obedient and did not tell anyone his secret (at least, to his knowledge – she took pride in the fact that she and her beloved colonel had managed to outsmart the first homunculus), and she slowly felt the shadowy chains round her wrists loosen, to the point now she only felt his eyes in the shadows while at work, still under the Fuhrer.

She did not take Pride or his threats lightly, though, but was glad he'd turned his attention elsewhere after she proved to be too much a bore, or perhaps too frightened to do anything. Of course that was not the case, but as a sniper, Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye could be as sneaky as she needed to be.

Now free, she was finally able to meet with Roy, privately, for the first time since being reassigned. They were still worried and cautious, of course, but just one dinner alone together couldn't hurt, could it?

She slipped into his – their – apartment, let Hayate off his leash – whereupon he ran around, investigating his almost forgotten surroundings – and smiled upon smelling her favorite Xingese dish (one Roy always made for her on special occasions) cooking nearby.

"Smells delicious," she said, walking into the kitchen.

He smiled at her over his shoulder briefly, "You're just in time."

She set the table for him, before coming up behind him and laying her head against his shoulder blade. "It's nice to see you again, sir," she sighed, lingering a moment and then straightening to run her fingers through his hair, a familiar gesture.

"I missed you," he said, hands still occupied with dinner.

"Mm," she agreed, filling a bowl with water for Hayate.

A few minutes later, she gathered the plates, holding them as he scooped some delicious concoction of noodles, rice and chicken onto each. They were close, and it only took a split second for him to close the gap and press his lips to hers.

Almost instantly, she was setting the plates on the counter and his serving spoon had found its way back into the pan, hands already reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies.

She stiffened suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck sticking up as her blood turned to ice; a familiar bloodlust present in the space behind her. No, not just behind her, but in every little shadow in the room – under the rims of the dishware, in the ridges of the doorknobs, even in the gap between her collar and her throat.

And she knew at once Roy felt it too as they broke apart, staring at each other wide-eyed, sharing in this sudden panic and terror.

They knew they'd been caught.

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_489 words.  
_


	91. Great Distance

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Turned out kind of sappy, but hey, even Hawkeye was a teenage girl once. Past spoilers? I guess this is the result of me drowning in about four pages of my design report ugh. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 74 :: Great Distance**

He'd left a week ago.

No matter, he'd left before and she survived, right?

Riza Hawkeye sighed, gazing out the window, the large empty house like a prison around her. She wouldn't be here too much longer – she'd received word from a grandfather she'd never met before, saying after the term was over, she'd transfer to a school near him, finish her last year of basic education, and they'd take her future from there – but for now she was left to live alone in this large, foreboding house.

It was raining outside. Roy never much liked the rain, she thought, and surely now with the secrets of flame alchemy he would hate it.

She reached her arm around to touch as much of her back as she could, remembering what it had been like when he'd studied the horrid code inked in her skin. She'd always hated what her father had done to her, the mark he'd left on her, but it was because of that same mark Roy Mustang gazed in awe at her bare flesh. In that time, she'd been able to pretend that maybe it was her than enthralled him so, and not the intricate array.

But those were merely the fantasies of a lonely teenage girl, too absorbed in romance novels for her own good.

Yet she still sat there, wondering where he was, what he was doing and if he ever thought of her. Of course not, she reasoned, but there was no harm in wishing.

The rhythmic pounding of the rain made her weary, and her eyelids began to sag. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, hugging herself against the light chill. Wherever he was, she'd be waiting for him, if not running after him. It was with that thought she finally realized just how selflessly devoted she was to him – the one fond memory in her troubled childhood.

No matter the distance, she'd stand by him, doing all she could to help his beautiful dream.

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_341 words.  
_


	92. Implicit Rules

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

* * *

**Theme 77 :: Implicit Rules**

He didn't call her 'Riza' at the office. Ever.

At home or out about town he called her 'Riza' as much as he liked, whether whispering it sensually in her ear or calling for her attention. She didn't seem to mind then, and would smile or salute and cal him 'sir' and everything was fine.

But he _never_ called her 'Riza' at the office.

"Oh, hello, Kain," he greeted, looking up from his paperwork as Fuery came in, Black Hayate in tow.

The dog ran up to meet his owner, somehow managing to talk her out of a treat he knew she always had hidden in her pocket. "Thank you for walking him, Fuery," Hawkeye said, scratching Hayate behind the ears. "It's just been so busy with you and Falman off for the day, and I know the colonel would have gotten nothing done if I'd left."

Mustang scoffed, professing that this was absolutely not true, and nearby Breda and Havoc were doing their best to control their laughter.

Fuery smiled. "Oh, it's no problem, Lieutenant. What better way to spend my time off than playing with the little guy, huh?" he said bending down as Hayate scampered over some more affection.

After some more laughs (most of which were at Mustang's expense) Fuery left and the team resumed their work, reading over case files and signing off on reports.

"I must admit," Havoc said after awhile, "it's a lot quieter without Kain."

"And Vato," Roy agreed. "Where is he when you need a text book definition for every last thing in the room?"

"Back to work," Riza droned, not even looking up from her desk.

Roy sighed. "Whatever you say, Lieutenant."

And with that, the office was quiet once more. It was only when Riza left to go file some of their completed work that Havoc finally spoke again. "Hey, Chief?"

"Mm?" Roy asked, now taking the opportunity gaze lazily out the window.

"What's all the formality around Hawkeye about?"

Roy looked over at him suddenly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I dunno, it's just strange, I guess. You call us all by our first names when the brass ain't around, at least some of the time. But I have never once heard you say the name 'Riza' when it wasn't sandwiched between 'Lieutenant' and 'Hawkeye'."

Roy smirked. "Well, it _is _Hawkeye."

Jean shrugged, turning back to his desk. "I'm just saying it's strange, is all. You know her better than anyone."

"Know who better than anyone?" Riza's voice echoed as she rounded the corner into their office.

"Oh, just this girl I'm dating," Jean covered quickly.

Riza's eyes narrowed a bit. "I'd suggest getting back to work then."

No, it wasn't exactly a rule that he never called her 'Riza' at the office; at least, not a formally spoken one.

But it was _very_ heavily implied.

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_483 words.  
_


	93. Ultimate Weapon

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Okay, totally written halfway through wading through lecture slides for my econ exam tomorrow. Royai fiscal policy. Haha anyways, originally this one had the words 'ultimate weapon' in it, but it was far more natural and clever this way, I feel, and it's quite obvious what said ultimate weapon is (cliche, I know, don't kill me). Better than my original thought though, of the famous Kim Possible puppy-dog-pout. Heehee ::has had way too much red bull and coffee:: so implied dirtiness and EdWin. And don't ask me what Winry's doing there, maybe she's . . . waiting for Ed and Al or something. Be creative. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 89 :: Ultimate Weapon**

Riza Hawkeye was known for being able to make her commanding officer do almost anything she wanted. Many thought this was because she had him thoroughly pistol-whipped; the first time he refused to do his paperwork and she shot, the bullet managing to graze his clothing but leave him otherwise unharmed, teaching him his lesson for good. Well, that story was true (Roy kept that old uniform jacket to prove it), but it wasn't the whole truth. Far from it, in fact.

"Your paperwork, sir?"

Roy cast a disinterested look at his pile of paperwork, then glanced up at Hawkeye. "Do I have to?"

She raised her eyebrows a little, almost imperceptibly.

He sighed despondently, felt around for a pen, and set to work.

Meanwhile, Winry Rockbell watched on in awe at the Lieutenant's ability to provoke such a response without even saying a word.

Some time later, after Riza had managed to convince her colonel to go and file his paperwork himself – a result of him complaining that he was getting stiff from being cooped up in the tiny office for so long – Winry approached the elder woman tentatively. "Uh, Lieutenant? I mean, Riza?"

"Yes?" she replied, straightening some papers on the colonel's desk

"How did you get Colonel Mustang to _do _that?"

"Do what?" she glanced over at the mechanic briefly.

"That!" She gestured vaguely, an incredulous look on her face. "You didn't even have to _say_ anything. That can't just be fear of being shot, can it?"

Riza tried her hardest to hide the little smirk that was forming on her face. "Why would you say it's anything else?"

Winry folded her arms across her chest, clearly not convinced. "It's not. I can tell."

The sharpshooter sighed a little at having been caught, and set a stack of fresh paperwork on Roy's desk, waiting for him. "It's the same way you've been getting Edward to properly oil his automail recently."

Winry frowned, still confused.

Grinning, Riza lowered her voice and added, "And I'm not talking about that little wrench-throwing trick of yours, either."

When Colonel Mustang returned, he was confused as to why the usually chipper young Rockbell was blushing a unique shade of crimson.

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_373 words.  
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	94. Diary Journal

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Whoo, written in twenty minutes between thermo and studying for my econ exam (stupid exam, it's split up over two days even, so that takes more writing time away from me argh). Anyways, this one did not turn out the way I anticipated. It quickly took a turn for the . . . dark? Sort of? Depressing? Originally it was going to be bunnies and rainbows variety of fluff but this is what came out. I don't know, I kind of like it anyways. Or maybe that's the caffeine talking. (And it probably is, considering I just noticed I titled the disclaimer 'Author's Note' and the author's note 'Disclaimer'. Wow.)

* * *

**Theme 61 :: Diary/Journal**

Riza Hawkeye was not the diary-keeping kind of woman.

Or at least, that's what everyone thought.

It wasn't much of one, not like those memoirs she'd read or what her romance novels asserted most women kept – a detailed, slightly mushy account of their love lives and a myriad of other pretty things.

She kept it as a little black notebook, bound with some soft fabric and held shut by a magnetic clasp. She carried it around with her in the inner pocket of her usual messenger bag with a pen. She wasn't entirely sure why she still wrote in it so faithfully – it had started as a way to relieve stress and keep her emotions in check towards the end of Ishbal, and then became her outlet afterwards. True to a war journal, it unleashed the scent of war every time it was opened, reeking of blood and gunpowder and sweat. But Ishbal was merely the stuff of nightmares now, and she only wrote about it in the dead of night – to remember, she thought, to remember their faces – and yet she still carried the little volume with her everywhere she went. She'd write little notes to herself, detailing the newest prank in the office, or the latest reaction Breda had to her Black Hayate, or how many times she had to take the safety of her pistol to convince Mustang it was time to work; light-hearted memories.

The most startling thing about this diary, however, was inscribed in the front cover.

Roy Mustang kept a journal, as well.

Two, actually.

One was his alchemy journal, coded using the names of women like a little black book.

The other was far less professional – a soft black cover and lined paper, on which he wrote things that no-one else would imagine he'd think. It was almost full now, pages full of massed scribbles, intricately describing the scenery out his office window, or the exchanges he saw as he sat alone in the park. There were detailed passages on each of his subordinates – of Breda's fear of dogs, Falman's unending knowledge, Havoc's inevitable future brush with lung cancer, Fuery's youthful enthusiasm, and Hawkeye; Hawkeye's stern demeanor, her gentle doting on her beloved dog, her impeccable aim, her natural elegance . . . his curiosity at that notebook she so delicately moved from the inner pocket of her bag to the corner of her desk every morning.

He looked at that book once, in secret, after his own was full and he found himself too lazy to go purchase a new one. But he never read it. No, he didn't even manage to get past the front cover.

For it was there that Riza Hawkeye kept a detailed tally of every last person she killed.

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_466 words.  
_


	95. Heiki & Heiki

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Past spoilers? Eh, I don't really like this one, it went off in a whole other direction but oh well. I'm 1049 words from the big 50k whooooo . . . I'd be closer if I hadn't written this crazy flow chart for my next Royai fic, but I'm excited about it. And about how I get to make TWO cosplay costumes soon, cos I want to do Riza but all of a sudden my friend wants to do D. Gray-man (after he thought that was a lame idea when I wanted to do Lenalee) so I am going to manage to pull off both Lt. Riza Hawkeye and General Cloud Nine at the same con. This is going to be crazy. At least they have, like, the same hair and both involve burn makeup and boots. /ramble

* * *

**Theme 5 :: Heiki (Weapon) & Heiki (Fine)**

"Riza?"

"I'm _fine_, Mr. Mustang," Riza said through clenched teeth, eyes trained on the target painted on the tree in front of her.

"No, you're not," the young man, now almost eighteen, stated, folding his arms across his chest, a mug in one hand.

She fired a round. "How would you know?"

"You always come out here when you're upset."

She fired a few more times, her aim remarkable for a girl of only fifteen. "So? It's my hobby; I come out here all the time when I'm _not_ upset, too, you know."

He frowned. "I heard," he admitted. "He was yelling at you again."

A few more shots and she was reloading. "It happens all the time, you know that."

"Not recently. I haven't heard him like that in years," Roy pressed, sitting down nearby and bringing his coffee mug to his lips. "What happened?"

She cast him a quick glance before taking aim once more. "I went on a date," she said quietly, before firing again.

He almost choked, mid-gulp. "A . . . a date? With whom?" he demanded suddenly.

Riza shrugged and shot off another round. "It doesn't really matter. I'm never allowed to see him again."

Finally recovering from his apparent shock, Roy asked, "All that over a date? Did you . . ." he trailed off, unable to put his thoughts into words, but she quickly glared at him, assuring him silently that her sex life was none of his business.

"Father never thought it would be a problem," she said, turning back to her target. "He never thought me pretty enough to be of interest to boys."

"That's not true."

If she heard him, she gave no indication, merely staring at her weapon thoughtfully. "I'm not stupid; I can take care of myself." One of her arms wrapped round herself, fingers trailing over her shoulder lightly, tracing invisible lines there. "I just wanted to be my own person, just once."

It was heartbreaking, Roy thought, watching her in silence for a few moments. "I'm leaving next week," he admitted softly.

She looked up at once, wide-eyed. "Why?"

He shrugged, explaining bitterly, "My studies are done. I've only learned basic alchemy, in all these years, and now Sensei's sending me away."

She turned back to her target and took aim, jaw set.

"Riza?"

She fired a round. "I'm _fine_, Mr. Mustang."

* * *

_405 words.  
_


	96. Underwater no Futari

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: More past spoilers. Feh, don't like this one either, but it was my third attempt at this theme, and probably the most ridiculous, but it stuck. I realized the reason I'm not liking these last few is mostly because they're the themes I've been downright avoiding all month because I haven't had any good ideas. Oh, well. Econ is calling. Maybe more tonight.

* * *

**Theme 79 :: Underwater no Futari**

"Keep your eyes closed," Roy smirked, pushing Riza along from behind, hands on her shoulders.

"I am, I am," she groaned, padding along in bare feet.

It was Riza's thirteenth birthday. At exactly midnight, Roy had snuck into her room and woken her up, 'kidnapping' her. And now here they were, sneaking around the local paths in the dark, she covering her eyes with her hands, both still clad in pajamas.

"Okay," he whispered. "Open 'em."

She put her hands down and looked around to see they were at the lake, standing on the dock in the moonlight. "The lake?"

"Ladies first," he joked, gesturing to the shimmering, rippling water.

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. "What's so special about the la- ah!"

_Splash!_

"Mr. Mustang!" she sputtered, smoothing her wet hair, glaring up at him. "What was that for?"

Snickering on the dock, Roy held out a hand to help her out, but when she took it, she chose to pull him in along with her, limbs flying. "Ah, it's cold!" he whined, splashing her. "Why'd you do that?"

"Me? You started it," she replied, alarmingly calm.

He splashed her again.

And again.

And again.

And she finally relented, engaging at last in the little splashing war, each taking turns attempting to dunk the other underwater. Riza Hawkeye, even in her first moments as a teenager, was a very serious individual.

But moreover, she was never one to back down from a challenge.

* * *

_252 words.  
_


	97. Happiness?

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Slight past spoilers? Very slight?

* * *

**Theme 92 :: Happiness?**

Ever since Riza's mother died, she'd been searching for that elusive thing called 'happiness'. They were once a happy, loving family, and took long walks in the park together; they'd even promised Riza a puppy when she was old enough to take care of it.

But then her mother fell ill, and nothing was happy anymore.

By the time Riza was seven, she forgot what it looked like for her father to smile.

In fact, she'd have forgotten what her own smile was like if it weren't for her father's student – Roy Mustang.

So it was now, lying here in bed with that same man, that she pondered on that emotion once more. His shoulder was warm and comforting against her cheek as she ran her fingertips over the mass of burns on his stomach. She watched his chest rise and fall as he slept, for once free of the nightmares that usually plagued his nights. Black Hayate was curled up at their feet; making a nest of the blankets they'd been so hasty to rid themselves of earlier. True, they were in great danger, even here in his apartment, away from Ishbal, and true, they were forced to sneak around in secret, behind the military's back; but life was good now, to some extent. Life was good.

As she closed her eyes and gradually sank into the welcoming warmth of sleep, her mind finally slowing down, her thoughts settled on one thing – _is this happiness?_

* * *

_250 words.  
_


	98. Ideals & Truth

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Really not fond of this one. I couldn't get my idea across at all. If I have time after I finish, I'll come back and fix it. It comes across totally wrong, like she got her position by sleeping with him, which was not what I meant. It was supposed to be more about partnership and how putting her as his aide was far closer to their real relationship as partners than simple commanding officer-subordinate. Meh.

* * *

**Theme 78 :: Ideals & Truth**

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was an ideal soldier.

At least, that's what everyone said. She was stern, hard-working, passionate, skilled and obedient; an ideal soldier. When asked why he favored her so, her commanding officer, one Colonel Roy Mustang, would list these qualities, and perhaps give an example – say, the way she always managed to get their team to turn in paperwork on time (their ability to do so, he said, was probably why they got so damn much of it), or the way she always managed to jump in right on time and save his ass when (on very, _very_ rare occasions) he was being foolish, or the fact that she was the best sharpshooter in the entirety of the Amestrian armed forces. Those were the reasons he favored her and kept her as his aide; she was an ideal soldier.

In truth, she wasn't exactly ideal – there was one military rule she did not abide by; not at all.

Damned fraternization laws.

And though true - the answers he gave about her position - they were not the whole story.

The truth was, she was far more than an ideal soldier and subordinate. As far as he was concerned, she was his partner, on and off the battlefield. He trusted her intuition and skills just as much as (if not more than) his own, whether it was taking down enemies of the state, or attempting to fix a squeaky door or leaky faucet in their home. To say Riza Hawkeye was an ideal soldier was an understatement – as far as he was concerned, she was an ideal woman.

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_273 words.  
_


	99. The You Reflected in the Glass

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

Author's Note: Mild past spoilers. Eeee only one more. It's sad, but also a good thing. Here - this is a theme I've been putting off for a long, long time, because I love it so much, but at the same time I could not come up with a bloody thing to do it justice. In an ideal world, I would have the time and patience to sit here and prod at it until it was perfect but alas, NaNo doesn't like perfection. Still, I think this is my favorite so far, and will probably be my favorite overall. It's sad and wistful, set fairly soon after Ishbal, when I imagine they'd still be especially shook up by it. There's reference to 'Hair', 'Giddiness', 'Before Falling Asleep' and 'Song' in this one. My suitemates were playing that Let's Slam Doors game again while I was trying to write this, so I wound up listening to the song "Nothing Without You" by Vienna Teng on repeat. I added it to my Royai playlist on a whim about a day ago, and I'm glad I did. It managed to help me put into words so many ideas I was struggling with in this. There's also a line where I stole the phrasing from an incomplete Earthsea fic I was working on years ago. Aaaaaaaand I'm really rambling. Sorry, I just think this one turned out especially pretty. Enjoy.

* * *

**Theme 65 :: The You Reflected in the Glass**

It was a cold, snowy night, and Roy was grateful for the warmth the train offered. He could never get used to the uncomfortable seats or the clickety-clack as the wheels made their way down the tracks. They were all very tiring, lulling him into a light daze until suddenly jolting him awake as the whistle cried, leaving him unsatisfied and weary with his thoughtful companion.

Sighing, he gazed out the window, where the night reflected her image back at him through frost encrusted glass – crystals reaching in from the edges with icy fingers. Perhaps there wasn't much special about her there, haunting as she was. Her delicate features had been hardened over the years, mouth and eyes set, refusing to convey emotion. The war had changed her.

He could remember a little girl, holding out a lock of her own silky blonde hair to him, or lying under him, a firefly perched on her nose, or cuddling with him in front of the fire. He could remember a young woman, humming an Ishbalan lullaby as she cooked or washed dishes, lithe, soft fingers wrinkled from the soapy water. He could remember a girl he once knew named 'Riza Hawkeye'.

But he did not know the woman whose reflection stared so vacantly back at him.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed the way her mouth dipped down slightly at the corners, and the sad wrinkle between her eyebrows, and the deep sadness locked away in those perfect, almost Ishbalan eyes.

Perhaps, if he believed in God, he would think her an angel – the fallen angel of sorrow, beautiful and fragile in the moonlight; glass.

At that moment, he knew his life was worthless, pointless without her.

The question was – which woman had he fallen in love with; the one with the soapy fingers and the Ishbalan lullaby? Or the one reflected in the eerie, frost-lit glass?

* * *

_324 words.  
_


	100. After the Rain

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA.

The Massive Author's Note of DOOM:

I'm done. Finito. Finished. Final NaNoWriMo wordcount: 50,636. I plan on doing some editing in December, but . . . DONE!

Some quick thoughts on this one - been saving this theme for last since the beginning. I nicked the title "A Blue September Morning" from a song called "After the Rain" by Ruthie Henshall, composed by Mark Carroll. This theme is greatly inspired by it, and I tried to incorporate some of my other favorite moments and themes in here as well (obviously I couldn't fit all one hundred but I had to put some in).

Many thank yous to: My friends for putting up with me being emo and antisocial while I was doing this (and particularly Kate and Christine who dealt with my incessant ramblings - thanks guys). And Christine again for somehow sparking the idea of actually trying NaNo this year when I was clearly doomed for failure (which apparently was not true). Oh, and Human Systems and Thermo classes for being boring enough for me to brainstorm in. Heehee.

Thanks for reviewing: Miskcat, Azilie, Blaze Alchemist, kakashifan915, The Flaming Bitch Alchemist, Pippin the hobbit-elf, MithLuin, Pickles the Great, Haikoui, Carolina, Miss Woodford, Cursed Flame, WolfChibi-chan, Griselda Banks, tatsuki Okamura, and kokoro. Special thank yous to Kate, jacksparrow589, Kurissyma san Tybalt, kuroxdoragon, MoonStarDuchess, Your Favourite Plushie, Winglessfairy25 and Dailenna. Extra special thank yous to causmicfire and Bizzy. ::loves:: I hope I didn't miss anyone, but if I did, sorry! Thank you to all you lurkers out there just reading, too.

Last but not least, I'd also like to know which of the themes was your favorite. I'm severely biased and indecisive so I'd probably just list all the ones I enjoyed writing (which is way too many), but for now I will say it was "The You Reflected in the Glass". I want to know out of curiosity and, if applicable, I will try to include some of the ideas/plots/dialogue/etc from the particularly popular ones in my upcoming still untitled chapter Royai fic.

Thanks again everyone, if it weren't for you, I'd probably never have finished this in a month. For serious. I really hope you enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing.

Love!

* * *

**Theme 93 :: After the Rain**

It was a brisk September morning, in those moments before sunrise when the whole sky turned a light blue color, with perhaps just the hint of pink rising over the horizon. Fall was just beginning to make its presence known, the first leaves tinting yellow and orange and red.

It was over. It was_finally_ over.

Riza sighed a little, contentedly, and threaded her fingers through Roy's, drawing closer to him as they walked, the morning dew dampening their boots and the hems of Roy's trousers. Black Hayate scurried about, tugging at the leash Roy was holding, eager at this rare opportunity for an early morning walk.

At the moment, it didn't matter that they'd defeated the homunculi, nor did it matter that they were to face trial in a matter of weeks. All that mattered was that it was over; they could rest.

Hayate managed to find himself in a puddle left by the previous night's rain, and gave himself a good shake, sending water flying in his parents' direction, but they didn't seem to care, as Riza ruffled his ears and they continued on their way.

Neither spoke, for there was nothing left to be said.

They found themselves in the nearby park, Hayate stopping at every landmark for a curious sniff. Roy managed to find a mostly dry bench and they settled down on it, tying up Hayate's leash where he could romp around and chase the butterflies and the odd confused firefly, out past its bedtime.

One landed briefly on Riza's nose as she sat tucked against Roy's side, snuggling for the extra warmth.

"Do you remember," she asked, "the fireflies when we were children? At Father's house?"

His fingers traced odd patterns on her shoulder, rubbing against the familiar burnt ridges there. "Mm, do you remember how you used to sing?"

She nodded a little, hair gathering static against his shoulder. "Do you remember how we used to sneak around? And no-one knew but they kept pushing us? Hughes . . ." she trailed off.

He smiled softly. "Do you remember how Hughes could never shut up about Elysia?"

"Or how he kept trying to push you into marriage?"

"Or that time with Fuery and the vodka?"

She laughed, as did he, almost to the point of tears.

Soon, Black Hayate was lying at their feet, content as Roy rubbed him with his foot. Riza sat nestled in Roy's arms, fingertips playing lightly over the familiar scars on his hand, marveling at how fitting it was for them both to be branded for life with the same array.

Looking back on their life now, things seemed so different – like a fairytale of sorts, too epic to possibly be real. But it made sense now; the tears, the pains, the deaths . . . they all fit somehow. And she wouldn't change a thing she'd done to get here. No regrets. No more.

It was true, everything was always clearer after the rain.

"You'd sing," he murmured, head leaning against hers. "Before Ishbal, you'd . . ." he trailed off, the already absent thought flitting further away from him.

She burrowed closer to him, closing her still sleep-weary eyes as his fingers combed lightly through her hair.

Quietly, she opened her mouth and crooned, voice muffled in the folds of his jacket, "Color a blue September morning . . ."

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_570 words.  
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